Demons, Desserts, and Death gods, Oh My
by Phantom of the Fiction
Summary: "With so little to do and so much time, an eternal life with no meaning can be a thousand times more torturous then one full of purpose that is cut short by any tragedy. And yet, one who lives this life will eventually find a reason to exist, a goal to fufill, no matter how dark the path that leads to doing so is..." OCxUndertaker
1. Prologue I

**Hello, and if you're reading this, this is by far my best freaking work so far, and will certainly be one of the longest. After over a year of planning and writing a 60 000 prequel, you are witnessing the beautiful birth of my baby. Except, you know, without all of the screaming and blood and the squashed baby head, because ew, that's gross, and I'm not giving birth to a real baby anyways. Before we start, though, there are a few things I'd like to mention:**

**One! The length of this author note! It will be longer than usual, but only because it's the first and I have a lot of stuff to explain.**

**Two! The rating! M for only gore and swearing, and nothing else. So don't spam this thing for ban.**

**Three! The plot! This story will include all of the manga arcs starting with the curry one, at least one from the anime including the OVA's, and at least one of my own creation, maybe a few fillers as well.**

**Four! The main character! Yes, she is a she, and yes, she may look like a mary sue at first but WAIT. I'm trying my hand at writing a deconstruction of a mary sue. She is perfect in some ways, but is incredibly twisted and messed up in others. Also, no one loves her. You won't be reading about canon character gushing over her because they won't be. At the very least, if she's going to be a mary sue, then dammit,I'm gonna make her a well written one!**

**Five! The writing style! I'm trying something new for the first time, and it's a great deal more different than MAGE, and if anyone's already read the prequel (which you don't have to read unless you want to; it's pretty bad, and did I mention this is going to be way better?) they'll see and feel a difference immediately. Please excuse me for any inconsistencies, and feel free to give me advice; I'm always looking for ways to improve.**

**Six! The update schedule! With the prequel, updates were weekly and 2000 words-ish long, sometimes longer. This time, chapter will uploaded monthy, but clocking in at about 5000 words, a lot freaking more. This chappy's over 7000 words, excluding the AN.**

**Seven! Edits! The flashback is now third person, because the second person thing kinda sucked. And was against the rules.**

**Eight! Enjoy the story!**

* * *

For her, pain tastes like burnt metal on her tongue.

It is a very real sensation, no matter how fake the rest of her may feel, no matter how numb. When she senses the flavor of coppery blood echoing through her head, she knows she is hurt.

This is how she feels now, almost completely cold and unresponsive to the outside world. Sitting in a coffin, she is confused and listless and unmoving, almost like a corpse- but she tastes blood, and she knows she is hurt. She is just unsure why.

_My name is Evangeline Sonata Britford._ Evangeline repeats to herself in her head, trying to recount the events of her life to sort through her muddled thoughts. _I usually go by Eve. When I was sixteen, I was cursed and branded by a vampire prince. I spent three years trying to find a way to kill him._

There had been a boy, at least Eve had thought he had been a boy, who had helped her, sewn her shut when she had been torn open, and held her up even as she was beaten down.

_I lived for that and I lived for my sister._

Faye, so innocent and loving, had been the only person to truly care for her from beginning to end, and Eve had felt the same towards her.

_But then Faye died._

Why did she have to be poisoned?

_And then Eros died._

But he had wholly deserved that, the vampire piece of scum.

_And then Kain died._

Because the boy Eve had thought had been behind her the entire time was in fact behind everything. The torture and dying and killing, all for the usurpation of a throne.

And then… and then what? There is a fog over her next few memories; she is not quite sure what had happened afterwards… or why she had blacked out and woken up in a coffin.

Even more curiously, there should be a plethora of emotion running through her head; sorrow, fury, something, but there is nothing but an absence of feeling, which in some way increases the disturbing nature of her situation.

It is all very, very sad, and dark, and mind-numbing, and for the next few minutes after waking, Eve cannot help but sit there and wallow in a haze of something that can be seen as self pity if she is actually feeling sorry for herself, which she is not for some reason, until a voice pipes up and drags her out of it like it is pulling her into a bathtub of cold water.

The voice says, "Well, has my lady woken up from her slumber?"

Eve tenses, recognizing the amused tone and carefree chuckles, and instantly rotates her head to look at Undertaker. The mortician is perching on another coffin, nursing a cup- no, beaker- of tea, with an urn filled with bone-shaped cookies sitting beside him. He must have been sitting there for a while, and is once again startling her out of her wits by appearing out of nowhere like he is somehow always able to do.

The girl just stares at him, hard, and for a few horrifying seconds, in which the subconscious of Eve's mind is racing about exactly what did he do while she was unconscious, (-like putting her into a dress, and isn't this just meant for dead people, and didn't he have to TAKE HER CLOTHES-) there is complete silence in the entire shop, save for Undertaker's soft giggles bouncing off the walls and his tea burbling as it is sloshed around by clawed hands in its container. (The urn says nothing.)

"…what happened?" She breaks the silence with a croak.

Undertaker grins even wider, if that is even possible, and leans towards Eve in that usual uncomfortable fashion of his. "Actually, I should be asking you that, my lady. After all, you just came back to life!"

Eve keeps staring. "I was dead?"

"As a doorknob! As a coffin! As a poor animal that just got run over by a carriage!" For someone who had watched a supposed corpse rise from the dead, Undertaker is still oddly jolly. Still, being a mortician, he must have seen his share of deceased bodies sit up in their coffin. "You were already far gone by the time I found you in the street. I brought you here, and even though I dressed you up, and stitched your wounds," (At this, Eve reluctantly traces the lines of thread traveling up and down her body and to her chagrin realizes that yes, Undertaker probably saw her naked,) "And was getting ready to depart you with a funeral, imagine my surprise when you sat up not two minutes ago in the middle of my afternoon tea!"

"And so that begs the question," Undertaker leans in even farther than this, the edge of his silvery hair tickling the inside edge of the death box the girl is still sitting in, and Eve is certain he is only doing it to further unsettle her. She tilts away, but the action is absolutely useless. "Why did you manage to escape death, when so many have opposed it and fallen? Were you really not dead?"

This cannot be true; the rips against her flesh that she sustained while fighting Kain and Eros were to fatal for any human to survive. Any human.

"Was it because of your magic?"

No, that cannot be right either: Eve had lifted the curse restricting her powers when she had slain the two vampire brothers, but even magic does not have the means to raise the dead, especially when the supposed caster is the one dying.

"Or is it because you aren't human at all, but really the reincarnation of an immortal creature?"

What?

'A phoenix' are the words the mortician does not say, but he knows, none the less, and she knows he knows, and he knows she knows he knows, and, being the kind of person he is, seems to be enjoying every second of the ensuing plain awkwardness.

Bent over her hands, Eve watches as her fingers tighten their grip on her (is it really her) dress and she apprehends that she had been holding onto the white silk skirt the entire time. The girl pales, which is an accomplishment, given that she usually has the complexion of a corpse that had died of blood loss, and her eyes narrow in suspicion. Two light brown, almost yellow irises flicker up to meet a covering of grey hair, for indeed, that is what Undertaker seems to have in the place of actual optical sensors.

She asks, not 'how did you find out', or 'who told you such a thing', for such questions are irrelevant, but instead, "How much do you know about me?" For, if she is lucky, Undertaker may be ignorant enough that she can simply run away and simply disappear and maybe go far, far into the distance, with no worries about be bothered-

"Whoooo, me? Why, I know everything. I'm an information broker, after all~"

But no, luck is never her lady.

To prove his claim, Undertaker lists off some particularly private things about Eve he is not supposed to be aware of, but somehow is anyway, counting the items off long, talon-tipped fingers as he goes. "For example, you were originally a noble lady before turning into a bounty hunter and executioner, and before that you were kidnapped and cursed by a vampire prince, and that the past three years, you strived to become strong enough to kill him."

At this point, Undertaker seems to get off track. "But after you did that, that healer of yours revealed that he was in fact that vampire's brother, and that he had been manipulating you into killing him for him, and was responsible for the death of your sister as well. So you killed your sister, killed the prince, killed your last remaining friend, died yourself, and then I came out from the brick wall I had happened to be standing behind and found you! And that, my lady, also happens to answer your question of 'what happened'."

The information-broker laughs- laughs!- as if what he had recounted is something amusing. Eve opens her mouth to notify him, that no, there is absolutely nothing funny about it; she had just died and come back to life, for Heaven's sake, and why is he laughing, but Undertaker cuts off her unspoken words. "Oh, not to mention that you seem to have a bout of amnesia."

"Amnesia?" Eve voices aloud, parroting the last word. "And specifically what have I forgotten?" Her brows knit together in a frown; she does not recall experiencing amnesia before, (what a redundant thought) and is wary of whether or not to trust this man's words.

"Perhaps you genuinely can't remember." The mortician thinks aloud, tapping a finger on his chin as if he is the one that needs to ponder anything. "Or maybe that healer of yours tampered with your memories. But of all the time I've known you, you've not once shown signs of acknowledging when we first met. The one who found you, the second time you ran from your tormenters? That was me."

Eve looks at Undertaker. Undertaker looks back.

"I do not believe you." The unconvinced girl says.

Undertaker purrs dangerously. "Oh really? Well, do you remember these?" Reaching towards his face, he pulls back the fringe of hair covering a good portion of his face, and suddenly Eve can see his eyes. She gasps, not because they are two-toned with double irises, not because of the outlandish shade of moss and emerald green they are, but because the sight of them triggers some hidden corner in her mind to- explode.

"Heh. They never were very forgettable." The mortician chuckles, talking about his eyes, but the remark is lost on the girl, who had fallen backwards and started to writhe as if (and only as if) in pain.

Her sharply inhaled breath sticks in her throat and Eve feels as if she is choking, suffocating. She is gripping her face like is it burning, but that is not it, her head, her head is what seems to be on fire. She is drowning inside her own mind, because a flood of memories are flashing through, coming in pieces like snippets of reel from a film, flying through her, until it all meshes together and pushes itself out and it fills her eyes and ears until she is effectively blocked out from the real world, until she finds herself in the memory.

.….

_It is not cold._

_It is not cold but she is shaking so, so much, and she can't get her grips, she's just trembling and shaking and curled up shut from the world. She has no idea where she is but it is dark and close around her, and she feels herself suffocating again. She's choking and choking and she doesn't want to stay in this box-_

_She doesn't want to see anyone again she doesn't want anyone to touch she doesn't want to be in here-_

_"My, my, what do we have here?"_

_Light breaks in, and then air, and she's writhing and screaming to escape the box too, she curls upwards and she keeps yelling this one, primal scream because it HURTS and she clutches herself and try to seal herself off, but she can't, because just then something explodes in her, and there are black feathers floating as her vision clouds. She's out, she's out and she has to keep getting out, away from that voice and away from here, everywhere-_

_The next part of her life blanks out. One second passes and she is lurching upwards (there's red, is that red beneath her?) and so loud, the next she is crouched, no, squashed, what is that taking up all that room, beneath a table of some sort, clutching at the wooden legs like they are her only lifeline, trying her hardest to stay silent._

_She fails. Fast, shuddery breaths are forcing themselves from her already-seared lungs along with whimpers and sobs. She tries to hide and conceal herself, but it is no use because the other person in the room already knows she is here, and where she is hiding._

_He is in her view right now and her in his._

_"There, there." He croons, trying to soothe her with soft tones and strange cookies. His offerings are lost to fear and distrust, why would she trust him at all, and she stays there just sobbing and backed up against the wall, she wants him and everything else to go away._

_"Hush, now, I'm not going to hurt you." He keeps going. "Why don't you come out?"_

_Her eyes are locked on him, and she does. Not. Move. But then he does, reaching up with his hands… she flinches and contracts further, but he simply brushes away the hair from his face, showing his eyes._

_Looking at those irises changes something in her. All the fear and pain seem to leach away, as her gaze is pulled towards them and the shades of emerald seem to calm her, speaking to her on an entirely different level than mere verbal words and physical actions._

_I'm not going to hurt you._

_Her breathing slows, and her fingers relax. Only the eyes stay vigilant, still drawn to his._

_He purrs, "There. Now why don't you come out from there so I can help you?" That cookie is still held out, and it now wiggling enticingly._

_Slowly, surely, and not too sure of what she's doing, she decides to comply with what he says. On all fours, she pads her way closer to the man. Black wings spring from underneath the table as well, half spread out. The arms she is supporting herself on are still unstable and wobbly, but she crawls all the same to the man she now thinks is safe, at least, safe enough._

_She takes a look at the ground- he had placed the bone shaped thing, which she can see really is some kind of biscuit, on the ground for her to take. But she ignores it, and grasps his hand instead. It is cooler than hers, yet somehow the touch of his fingers makes her digits grow warmer._

…..

Eve wakes up. It is like a switch turning on, as her eyes snap open and she is shoved back into the plane of consciousness. She raises herself up on one elbow and looks around and sees she is back where the memory… dream… hallucination had started, lying sideways in a coffin. And yet, she is also where it had ended, in that somehow, in her throes of whatever she had gone through, she had somehow reached out and grabbed Undertaker's hand.

"Back now, are we?" The mortician ceases his chuckling, but seems to still be smiling, a smirk playing on his lips as his now covered-again eyes look on at Eve's display of weakness.

Calmly, wordlessly, the girl removes her hand with a deliberate motion, and sits up with no assistance, and for some reason the smile disappears.

"That was a memory." It is not a question, but Undertaker answers like it is one anyways.

"Yes, and it was yours." Here, he picks up his tea and continues conversing between sips. "I thought it was curious when you made no mention of it the times we've talked. Who would have thought it had been selected and erased? Now, what supernatural being could've given such a specific kind of amnesia, I wonder…"

"Kain." Eve answers lamely. "He manipulated me from the beginning. I should have realized earlier." She should be angry, but is not, like all of her emotions are held back, locked up. She does not know where they have gone, but does not really care. (Unless uncaring counts as an emotion as well, in that case, she will find some other phrase to describe what she is feeling.)

Undertaker mutters quietly under his breath, but the girl sitting in the adjacent casket can still hear him. "Let you do all the dirty work for him, hmmm?"

"It does not really matter anymore; he is dead now." He is dead because I killed him.

_I have killed a lot of people like him..._

The broker's next words are nonchalant. "Such a shame, really…"

Now this is a curious statement. "I do not see why you are so disappointed at his death." Comes the dead response, as Eve cocks her head to the side, the way a curious child would have done while scrutinizing a new plaything. Her hair falls from her face like this and she can see the mortician with both eyes. "From what I remember, you did not like him at all. You still do not."

"Ah," He muses, tapping his beaker of tea against shining milk-white teeth, "But he would have been such fun to dissect."

Silence falls for the following few minutes, and fills the air along with a restless tension and the smell of sugar and butter. Eve eyes the mortician sitting at her side, who is simply perching on his stool of a death-box, and waits for him to say something, or anything at all really, about the enormous dragon in the room, but he does not, so she has to do it instead.

"Can I ever go back?" The girl is referring to her own fantasy-esque pocket dimension, of magic and impossible (supposedly impossible, she corrects herself, is not she one herself?) creatures.

"I'm afraid not, my lady. You're stuck here." Downing the last of his drink with one final tip of a glass beaker, Undertaker sets his empty container down and looks up at Eve expectantly, as if waiting for her reaction, with his straight legs crossing over one another and the fingers of his hands intertwining and resting under his grinning-again face. "That's the tricky thing about portals- not only can one not know when they've entered one, the longer the time they spend on the other side, the more unstable they are, and the more prone they are to disappearing out of nowhere! Considering how long you stayed here, it doesn't really color me surprised that it disappeared before you woke. Did you know? That this place never really belonged?"

"…I knew from the start." Eve admits. "Where else did the front door of your shop lead to? How else could this door simply appear out of nowhere one day to no one else's attention? When we first... second met, it was only because I had a customer for you. So I am stranded here?"

"It seems so. You're on your own, aren't you?" The mortician agrees with her with far too much glee. "Whatever shall you do now?" Somewhere under the ignorantly cheerful tones are hidden layers of something that sounds like sadism. ("Whatever shall you do now?")

Not mourn her 'loss', which is for sure. To her non-existent shock, Eve seems to accept the reality with no distress, half because there seems to be no distress to feel and half because she knows she will not miss her past life in the slightest. That world is a hell. Although she had lost everything, Eve had never owned too much to begin with, and what she did posses, had already been unceremoniously ripped from her with cruel twists of fate. The best course of action, she acknowledges, is to find a place for herself and perhaps this time around, she will be able to live in peace, for the most part. But this means that Undertaker's prodding has a point, what will she do now? She has no ties, no means of making ends meet on her own. If anything, life may start up harder than what it started as and she may end up on the streets… but even so...

"Survive." The word escapes her lips without her knowledge, as a testament to her own animalistic instincts. She had lost everything, has nothing, and probably will not have anything worth having ever again, but even so the core of her being still has a goal. "I am going to survive." She pauses. "The only questions at the moment is how...?"

Once again, the girl is drowning in her own thoughts, and once again, she is jerked from them unpleasantly. "I know!" Undertaker's words assault her ears as he claps in joy as if savoring a grand joke. Her eyes pull back to the mortician, who is now visibly excited, (For what exactly? Did he find something funny again?) And is angling towards Eve again, like he wants to share some excellent secret. "Why don't we," he inquires, "make an agreement?"

Not making any move of shying away from the invasion of her personal space save, for leaning away from the mortician to avoid the smothering closeness, she says in return, "What kind of agreement?" If it is something that can be of use to her, Eve may as well hear the man out.

He tells her. She does not like it.

In fact, even though she has never done so before, Eve comes to the conclusion that she really despises making unpredictable deals like the one that had just been presented to her, especially when they are being offered by an unpredictable person, which is the absolute best way to describe Undertaker, in an unpredictable (read: shifty) setting. And indeed, one can definitely call the mortuary such a word, with its randomly opening coffins, floorboards that even she does not know how to tread on without making noise, and eerie occupant that is simply too touchy for her tastes.

No, she does not like this proposition at all; it is too dangerous, too unstable. She cannot bring herself to believe in someone so… like him. Always laughing and hiding something, even it the least of it is his eyes.

(Do you remember these-)

But she is all alone, and Undertaker is most definitely not lying about that.

But he is the only one who can help her here.

But…

"But enough about that." He leers. "Why not have a cup of tea while you think the matter over, hmmm?"

… She ultimately has no choice, does she?

…..

_I gained an ally,_ Eve thinks to herself, gazing at her right hand, examining the skins and the lines and the joints that composed it as if for the first time. She feels the last remnants of his warmth leach out of the tips of her fingers. _Yet this does not make me feel._

_Any._

_Less._

_Cold._

…..

It is about a half out later, and at her insistence, Eve has gotten dressed in her own clothing, having done so with Undertaker hiding in a coffin the entire time, because no, she had told him, she does not care if he had 'already seen everything' as the least embarrassing way to put it, or that she does not seem to have enough emotion to care, she still has a scrap of dignity she would like to hold on to, thank you very much, even if it is only out of habit. Like her own skin, the fabric is repaired with skillful stitches of thread, courtesy of one mortician, and the girl dimly wonders how often Undertaker's customers ask for their old clothes back.

She is looking down but has her line of vision is intruded by the sight of a beaker, filled to the brim with tea, and her eyes trail from the thin hands cradling it up along the arms to Undertaker's grinning face. She is thirsty, and has already accepted the mortician's deal, so, she thinks, there is no harm in taking the thing. It probably is not poisoned.

The tea is steaming and the glass itself is hot, quite hot, Eve knows, but when her fingers curl around the beaker she can hardly register the warmth as burning so much as closer to her own body temperature. (Something feels wrong with me.)

"Well then, my lady, how are you feeling?"

One part of the deal is that neither she nor Undertaker will lie to each other, so Eve processes the question for a while to think of a suitable answer, since "nothing" is the closest thing she can say but is obviously not the truth; no one who exists is ever nothing, or feeling nothing. "Cold." She finally says. "And heavy. It is like I am still dead."

"Hmmm. Interesting." The mortician remarks, but waves it off, and Eve does not care that he does so, since neither of them find the detail too incredibly important. "Well, so long as you're comfortable, I may as well get started, shall I?"

She is not really, never being at ease in the first place, but even if Eve had bothered to say anything, Undertaker would simply continue talking, so she does not and simply sits back and lets him go on.

"The year is 1888, and you are currently sitting in a mortuary in a city named London in a country named England. It's rather like the same village you grew up in, except with no bone crunching monsters, a higher population, and no magic-"

At this last point, Eve frowns and concentrates on the palm of her right hand, and, like she expects, a small flame comes into being, burning as if feeding off of a candle wick.

"I can still do this, however." She mentions, raising her hand so the fire is level with her eye, the miniature blaze catching the strange yellow undertones of her irises. "Why is that?"

A lengthy black nail points and waggle at the display of what can only be described as magic. "Ah, now that," he explains, "is the result of magic you possess." It is your very being that is capable of doing such a thing, and so nothing has changed to stop that. However, if you attempted to perform what I believe is called Distortion, you wouldn't be able to because this reality doesn't have that property."

To confirm this, Eve tries to make Undertaker's hat levitate, but fails, her finger aiming uselessly and succeeding in doing nothing but humiliate her and earn a few giggles from the funeral director. So this dimension does not have magic, but she does... a good thing to know.

"As such, there is nothing to cause the souls of the dead to fester, so you don't have to go worrying about monsters that result from a supernatural mutation."

No more giant carnivorous plants and werewolves, but oh well. Eve will not miss them.

"There are no vampires either,"

That is good.

"But there are demons."

This is not quite as good; at least, Eve thinks this but cannot be incredibly sure given that she has no idea what a demon is.

"They're something like a vampire, I suppose," Undertaker answers her unasked enquiry, as if he had read her mind like a book, "but are better at hiding themselves. Instead of drinking blood, they devour souls. And instead of branding property, they contract their humans. Said humans have a contract seal, but instead of becoming property, they trade their soul for the fulfillment of one request. Understand, now?"

"Yes." The prospect of what seems to be a harder to deal with version of a vampire is not the most attractive one, but Eve will have to worry about it should she actually meet one. "Please continue."

"At the moment, our fair country of England is ruled by one Queen Victoria." The girl gets the feeling that the mortician does not think highly of this queen, from the way that he talks of her like he did Kain, and the manner of his waving hand, but continues to be silent.

…..

"And if you were to ask me, the most likely chance of you finding a way to support yourself is to get a job! I'm sure I can-"

By this point, Eve finishes her tea, and sets the empty glass container on the coffin door. "I should get started then."

So she walks out before Undertaker can finish what he is saying, leaving him to pout and wonder how purposely she had timed her exit.

…..

Just like Undertaker says, the world outside the mortuary door is not that different than what she grew up with, lived in. The same kind of stones cobble the pathway beneath her booted feet and similar quaint shops of varying size and height line the street side, some attached to houses and other buildings, while residents traverse the area like she knows they do; young ladies peruse the goods that are laid out behind windows for all to see, men in stiff suits march off to whatever they happen to be going, and mothers and fathers keep tabs on cheerful children as they run to and fro between various displays of sweets, begging their parents if they can have this stuffed animal, or this new chocolate lolly.

Yes, Eve decides, this will not be too hard to adjust to. One of the few differences she can see is that there are no nearby manors, meaning that any nobles living in the country, however many there may be, must mainly live elsewhere. That is something to think about. Where will she live? What jobs are available? Eve is now stuck somewhere where she has no connections, aside from Undertaker of course, and no means to support herself. Not to mention the amount of paperwork an immigrant must have to fill… So many things to think about…

"Mum, 'wot's with the weird lady in the trousers?" Eve's attention is drawn to a small child toting a plush rabbit sporting an eyepatch, pointing its faux fur paw in her direction.

"Hush, she's probably a foreigner." A woman, the kid's mother, hurries the little boy away, her expression one of disapproval and intolerance. "It's best not to be involved with people like that!"

Another thing that is not the same about this place is the looks the girl is receiving. Perhaps it is the strange red streaks that plague her hair, or the very differing way in which she is dressed; trousers and a thick black coat and vest over a white shirt, all torn and re-sown in various places, and completely unalike from the gowns and skirts and blouses the girls her age are all wearing, but several on goers are casting various glances at her as they pass, ranging from wary to uncertain to simply curious. Either way, it is a far cry from the cold ignorance and indifference Eve has grown to expect all of the time, and she finds herself wanting nothing more than to disappear from sight.

With no apparent reaction to the mother-child duo's words, she chooses to do so, finding an alleyway on her right and slipping away as she is so adept at doing. Perhaps she will try her hand at job-hunting another time, when it is darker and there are less people are about.

Alas, a side of her new home even darker than the time of night she is thinking about soon makes itself known to Eve, as the exact corner she turns about is not three feet away from a woman being mugged by a stranger. She is pinned against the wall by a much taller, stronger, male attacker, who is grinning in a gleefully insane fashion, as one of his black finger-nailed (which looks quite familiar, not that Eve thinks about it) hands is pressed up against the girl's mouth, silencing her, and relishing the tears that are slipping soundlessly down her cheeks.

The girl is young, perhaps about Eve's age. She might have grown up with her. She might have been her friend.

However, she had not, and neither of these possibilities are true in the slightest, so there is no reason in particular for Eve to do anything to save her. In fact, she stops dead in her tracks, just inside the edge of the alley way, hidden in a well-placed shadow, and making no noise. She watches as the girl struggles and her captivator grins, like the Undertaker, except in a far more demented and twisted way, holding that victim back effortlessly with only one had, and weighs the pros and cons of saving this person.

_I do not know her, so there is no sentimental value in keeping her alive._

Killing the man would raise suspicion.

The girl's life is not worth much. I can hardly imagine half of London even knowing she exists.

Eve is inclined towards letting the girl die, but something catches her eye- the glint of a blade, rusted and dim but still visible none the less. It is a knife, but the weapon is lying on the ground, attached to a hand, and a dead body, crushed and mangled, along with it, crumpled in a heap as if thrown aside. Beside him, in the same condition, is a purse of coins.

_Wait. If he is the mugger, who is that man?_

And then what Undertaker had said to her comes back.

_A demon?_

Eve has never met a soul-eater before, and is not sure if that is even what she is seeing, but a soul seems to be the only way to describe the thing that the stranger has somehow drawn from the girl, leaving the now dead body to slump against the wall as he raises the morsel to his lips. (Rather, she is seeing nothing, but what else can he be holding aside from thin air?)

If this man is a demon, she tells herself, as she squints at the maybe-monster, the girl now forgotten, then there is a chance he may come after me. If that is so, I should get rid of him now if he has a chance of targeting me.

Giving the area a thorough scan to ensure that no one else alive is present, Eve steps out and approaches the man/demon carefully, the way a wild animal walks slowly to a human offering food.

_(Hush now I'm not going to hurt you-)_

"Excuse me sir," she says quietly, calmly. "Are you a demon?" Eve waits, stopping a few feet away from the man, and listens for an answer.

Although initially surprised, the demon regards Eve with hungry eyes and smiles, fangs peeking out of his lips. "Yeah?" His manner is rough, but cocky and over-assured. "What about it girlie? Do you want to be eaten too, like this pretty here?" That same hand from before tosses and catches the invisible soul like it is a ball, and he is the happy child playing catch. "Big mistake, showing yourself like that. Maybe I'll eat you now, or save you for later. I always did like-"

Having heard all she needs to know, Eve does not wait for the demon, for she has confirmed the fact that he is one, to finish whatever he is saying, as it is no longer important; she has already identified him as a rabid dog, and such dogs needed to be put down. Catching him off guard, the raven-haired girl lunges and manages to pull out long, thin wires and slice off an arm with the razor edges before the demon wizens up and pulls away in time to avoid losing a second limb.

"Bitch!" He spits, and lunges with unsettling speed as his remaining hand reaches to claw at Eve. "I should have known you were some fuckin' death god or somethin'. No normal human's stupid enough to come up to a demon. I should tear you apart before I eat you. Teach you a lesson-"

His anger clouds his mind and Eve takes advantage of it, drawing one of her many blades out to shove down his throat and put an end to his attention-drawing yelling, before backing towards the opening of the alley to distance the two fighters. She had twisted the blade, and now there are two wounds on the demon pouring blood, dripping red all over.

The demon is infuriated, beyond livid, and his movements are more distracted due to it; his swipes are slow and of bad aim, his footwork is sloppy. He would still be able to overpower any human he came across, but for a supernatural being, he is child's play. Knocked down by another blow, this time to the shoulder, he struggles to get up. "Little bitch!" His mouth, sliced at the corners, seems insistent on continuing to utter their useless and guttural insults.

She is not a death god of any kind, but this fact is not important. Eve continues the assault, having now set her sights to kill this demon in man's clothing. Part of him is evaporating into something else- the copious amounts of blood pouring to the floor is thickening to a sludge-like black substance, and the four fangs the demon had from the start are starting to multiply, into eight, into sixteen, until his mouth is stuffed with sharpened teeth. He is turning into something else, maybe his real form, and a gut instinct tells the girl that hurting him will become much more difficult if she allows him to continue.

Shielding herself from the next lunge of biting teeth with her knives, Eve moves back again, as is her only option. Now in close proximity, too close, with the demon's growling, feral face, Eve grabs it and summons fire to her hands and burns it, gripping the monster's head and forcing it and the rest of the body down before the beast break free and they are both on opposite walls once more. His face is melting, the flames spreading over like wildfire, but it reveals only more black mass and now scales, and the fire does nothing to impede him.

Eve holds out her hands and a black scythe materializes, resting cold and heavy in her arms. The demon is gradually regaining his former attitude, with the coming of his true form, and as he stands, more a mass of dark tentacles than he is a human facade, he gets up from his kneeling position, ready to rip Eve apart with no mercy.

Only too late does he look up and sees the girl is no longer where she had been, backed against one of the narrowly spaced walls, but has instead closed in on him, scythe in hand. His eyes, a shining pink with slit pupils, widen as he watches his chest be impaled a dark blade. Eve stands at his side, facing the opposite direction as him, into a wall of brick, as her arms, which are grasping the scythe directly at her side, pull the blade out with a twist. The beating heart muscle that is removed hits the ground with the wet noise of raw meat smacked against a table.

But the demon does not die.

And as he realizes that no, that weapon is not a death scythe, and that this girl probably is not even a reaper, he opens his fanged mouth wide and laughs. "Is that all you've got?" No longer angry, but now excited in a sadistic and cruel manner, the monster is holding up his hand again in elongating sharp claws. "Then it's my turn to have some fun."

And yet, even as he advances once more with the intention of gouging out Eve's own heart, and even as the girl retreats and considers fleeing, the demon dies, because before either party knows exactly what is going on, his head is squashed by a flying object and his entire body from the waist and above is ground up and splattered like a bomb all over the surrounding area. At this point, the blaze overtakes the now dead body and eats away at it, taking in various bits once human parts and demon skin, and turning it all to ashes.

Eve is not injured, having even been able to escape being soaked in blood, and the fight seems to have ended, but she still does not relax and remains as tense as ever, because even though she did not sense it, someone had come without her even realizing it. It is as if whoever it is has appeared out of thin air, and she did not know.

(She did not know. She did not know. How much did that person see?)

The 'whoever it is' is currently surveying with scene with a wolf whistle and his hands in his pockets, white oxford shoes dancing away from the grime and dirt. "Whoo! I knew this chick was gonna croak today, but I didn't think being a little late would mean a demon would try eating her soul so quickly or anything. At least the dead dude died when he was due to, hah." He is leaning in a lazy, leisured manner on some contraption, this box with blades attached to the bottom and as angular "U" shaped handle on the top that is currently whirring away at something Eve cannot see. Along with this, the newcomer is holding a book and muttering, "Caroline Johnson, born August 21, 1869, died November 30, 1888 of… soul removal. No special remarks."

"Whelp!" Finishing his business, he turns towards Eve and she sees a glasses-wearing face with two-toned ruffled hair smile at her. "I really gotta say thanks for taking down that demon for me. I would've gotten overtime for sure if I'd let that soul get snatched. I'm Ronald Knox, by the way, nice to meet you." While his bladed box… thing… disappears, he extends a friendly hand towards her, continuing, "I don't think I've seen you around the division before, what's your name?"

Meanwhile, Eve stares at the hand like it is an alien. Not knowing who this Ronald is, she steps away again, her eyes narrowing and her razor-thin wires still snaking from her hands, ready to pounce at any given moment. Seeing this, Ronald holds up both hands in a notion of peace and says "Whoa, I'm not going hurt you or anything. I just wanted to know your name. Are you from a different department or something? Hey, what's up with your eyes?" His own, a pair of double-iris yellow and green, look into hers with curiosity.

Eve honestly does not know how to react. Here is a complete stranger talking as if he is familiar with her and asking her things she does not even understand.

She honestly does not know how to react.

Except run the fucking hell out of there.

"H-hey! Come back!" Ronald reaches for Eve, but his fingers only manage to brush the tips of her hair as she turns tail and sprints the way she had come. Following her, he is surprised to find that the girl is not there when he looks around the corner, having vanished as if into thin air. "Huh, I guess she wasn't one of ours. Maybe from another division?" A black feather falls onto his nose. He blinks. "I wonder if I should report this…"

* * *

**I really liked the ending, but I'm not too sure if Ronald was in character... or Undertaker for that matter. Man, you do not know how many times I've misspelled the latter's name as 'Undertkaer.' It's weird.**

**I'd love to get some feedback on this. There are so many things I'm not sure if I'm doing right feel free to input your opinion.**


	2. Prologue II

**Well, this chapter's certainly shorter than the last one. I have a tendency to start off and end stories long, but everything in the middle is kinda short. Thank you, RagtimeGrenny, for being the first to review! I took your advice accordingly. The first chapter's edited, and I might be adding some stuff to it just to add to the style of the writing.**

**I have to warn you, the first arc here is of my own creation and a little... weird. Things _might _get a little mary-sue-ish in this bit but hopefully not too much. I know exactly where I'm going with this story, and after a bumpy beginning, it'll be nothing but smooth riding after that. I hope.**

**This aside, I don't know whether to update this story once or twice a month... I have a rather large buffer built up, but I'm not sure if I can keep up my writing speed or not. Do people even want to read that much that often?**

* * *

It is night time now. Most of London has fallen asleep and with fewer humans milling about, the girl guesses that perhaps it is safe enough to walk openly in the streets. Still, even as she slips into the shadows and evades the sight of everyone in the immediate radius, Eve is still wary and alert; every step is tense as they are carefully taken upon the cobbled stone.

She has made two mistakes today, the first of which is walking in the town in daylight when she should have picked up the fact that she stood out, and the second being that she had let herself be seen, both by a demon she should not have approached in the first place _(Note: never attack unless provoked first.) _and by a stranger who is still alive, something she may or may not pay dearly for later.

_Alright. _Eve says to herself, as she jumps from a rooftop situated where she hopes is far away enough from where she had met Ronald that the boy can no longer follow her. _That was not the best choice I have ever made. _She is slightly aggravated; first Undertaker, and now that boy. Despite being able to elude him without using her wings, having only started to form them before retracting them, Eve swore that she had left behind some feathers. Was not _she _supposed to be the stealthy one? _Perhaps next time I should kill any witnesses. Or would that attract attention? Or not?_

_..._

_Huh, I must be getting tired. And with that person possibly still on the streets tonight, I should go back soon._

**…..**

"Ke. Seems like you didn't have a very happy day, my lady." Undertaker twirls a bone cookie between his absurdly elongated fingers, deftly spinning the treat in circles before popping the end into his mouth and snapping the end off with a flourish of teeth.

"A day cannot be described as happy." Corrects the girl, before blowing on her tea (only out of habit; she has long since ceased worrying about being burned by anything) and sipping nonchalantly. "But if you are asking how productive I managed to be today, the answer is 'not very much', I am afraid. I will have to pay off my debt later than expected."

"Tee hee." The mortician chuckles, somehow amused by her actions, possibly by how seriously the girl is acting while surrounded by various corpses dressed to the nines and seated on other wooden caskets with sets of tea and cookies on their laps. (The two of them are currently seated in their own coffins, along with about seven others arranged to face in a circle. Eve is attending a macabre tea party at Undertaker's request, and, being her landlord at the moment, she does not find it an intelligent choice to refuse to indulge him.) "But you _do _realize my debt cannot be paid in the queen's coin, do you?"

The cold, loose expression on Eve's face solidifies slightly into chagrin and annoyance. "Yes, I do. But laughter is not something I have in great abundance. Unless something unprecedented occurs, such as me obtaining a sense of humor, I will have to wait until I can find some source of jokes, and most likely _that _will cost some kind of currency." She is about to blow another puff of vaporized liquid away, but stops herself and simply continues sipping the still-hot tea, while eyeing the mortician as he offers a biscuit to a lady seated beside him, head bobbing up and down because of the prodding. "Unless whoever is controlling said source _also _happens to demand some kind of absurd payment. But I doubt this."

One of the dead bodies, a young blond man who could have been described as 'dapper' in his suit... if it were not for the hoof-marks marring his face, (Undertaker must have yet to get around to applying make-up to this particular corpse), becomes imbalanced and falls in Eve's direction, who then forces the corpse backwards with a flick of her finger. "On the subject of business, what makes you think your customers approve of the treatment of your guests?" The girl accuses haughtily, now pointing her finger at the mortician. "I certainly hope I was not coerced into anything like this while I was… dead." She almost uses the phrase 'out of commission', but decides against trying to make what had happened to her look like anything else. She had been dead, and there is no way around the fact.

Cackles rise into the air and bounce off of the walls as Undertaker holds his stomach to contain his mirth to no avail. "Hahahahahehe! What they don't know won't hurt them, my ladyyyyy!" He giggles hysterically, and Eve wonders whether, not to mention sorely wishes, there are any insane asylums in the area that accept constantly laughing morticians that think they can talk to the dead.

"And there's no need to worry about _that, _either," He adds with a sly grin hidden behind his sleeve, referring to Eve's second point, chuckling between his words. "You happen to be attending the first party I've hosted in _ages._"

It occurs to Eve that Undertaker had arranged this 'party' with the mere purpose of goading her, but, a great deal more nonplussed than she should be, the only reaction she displays is the brief deepening of one brow, (also known as an eyebrow twitch,) as she continues sipping her tea.

The laughing man watches her do this and, upon seeing this, his chuckles subside, along with his smile, until his face sags down into an unamused, almost sad, frown. "Ehhhhh, you're being no fun at allll." He scoffs, reaching to poke Eve with a finger. "What will it take to get a laugh out of you?"

"More than that, I know for sure." Is all Eve answers with. The girl is unable to be any more specific than that because she is not sure herself what would make her laugh. In fact, she does not even know what can make her smile anymore. How long has it been since she had done so?

There is a double knock on the door, rapt and curt, and while quiet, it is loud enough to draw the attention of the two (living) occupants of the building. "It is rather late for a customer to come, is it not?" Eve remarks, her eyes narrowing at the door as if they can see straight through to the person standing behind it.

Undertaker, in response, puts a finger to his mouth, silently miming a "Shhhh." as an unspoken signal to be quiet. He lifts himself out of his casket, the one closest to the door, and heaves it back up to its original position, propped against a wall. Then, striding over to the girl, he puts a hand on her shoulder, his nails digging slightly into Eve's skin, and suddenly smiles a frightening smile.

Eve is almost scared. "What are you-"

The girl is cut off when, with surprising force, she is shoved backwards into the sea of red velvet and closed in on by a matching door, which swings closed with a solid, definite, thud.

There is a soft thump that soon follows after, along with returning giggles. Giving a testing push in front of her, Eve discovers with great annoyance that Undertaker has _sat _on the coffin, and by extension on _her, _and that she cannot. Get. Out.

"!"

Whoever had knocked has entered now, with strict, constant steps that Eve can hear clearly, despite the layers of fabric and wood shutting her away from the outside world… or rather, the inside of the Undertaker's shop. "Oh, it's just you, Willy." This, she realizes, is Undertaker speaking, having switched his tone like a swing from wickedly amused to sorely disappointed. She can listen in on the conversation well enough; despite the muffled quality and the panic she feels slowly creeping into her brain, the words come to her ears quite clearly.

"Hello, sir. I am sorry to bother you." A pause. The customer, if he is one, talks like Eve does, in a clipped, short, and formal way. "But there has been a disturbance, and I have some questions for you."

"Ah, hurry along with it then. My guests are all getting impatient." That is a lie; his guests are dead, save for Eve, who this 'Willy' does not know about, and are therefore incapable of feeling impatient. Already, the girl knows what Undertaker does not like this person. "This won't be another thinly veiled attempt at getting me to come out of retirement, is it?"

"No, sir; I am simply wondering if you have seen someone in the area. Black and red hair, gold eyes, and standing at about five and a half feet tall." Ailliam lists off the slightly inaccurate attributes in a monotone, terse, voice. "Have you seen anyone with these qualities?"

_My eyes are _light brown. Eve thinks, a little indignant._ Light. Brown._

"And what if I have? Is she one of yours?" More hostility.

"…no."

"Then what business would you have with this person? Can you tell me that?"

There is a nervous cough. "As far-fetched as the idea is, the association has reason to believe she is not of this world." Another pause. Eve's fingers are starting to twitch and her breathing feels somewhat irregular, she notes, as she glares down at her hands, despite not being able to see them. If she does not know better, she would have thought she is starting to develop claustrophobia. Still, it is incredibly unpleasant being trapped in the casket as she is however soft the lining may be. "Rather, from a pocket dimension that was created by the Death God Association millennia ago."

The girl freezes, an ironic motion for a commander of fire. What information do these gods have on her, the place she had come from? "From interviews conducted with previous escapees- that were cut from their cinematic record, of course- we learned that some humans developed unnatural abilities, but lost them soon after leaving their dimension of origin."

_Distortion.____So, when anyone switches dimensions, they lose their ability to perform magic._

_But because I can still use it, they are after me..._

"However, from a report given by a reaper who happened to see her, it has been confirmed that she is one of the few who have not done so, for whatever reason."

(_The result of the magic _you posses-) _So it was a mistake to let that person see me._

_ I should have killed that boy when I had the chance. _

Eve's hands are now pushing against the lid, but try as she might, she cannot seem to be able to move it in the slightest. Undertaker is much heavier than he appears to be, under the loose robes that serve as his usual garb. Frustrated, the phoenix reincarnation snarls silently and grips the soft lining of the door above her all the tighter, and can sense the fabric warming to her touch.

"As a result, because of a shortage in the other departments, I have been ordered to find this person and dispose of the threat, before her presence disrupts the business of the reaper association. Like a demon, she is considered too dangerous and unpredictable to consider allying with."

At this, Undertaker feels the wood seat underneath him heat up quickly, and oddly enough, start to buck upwards as hot air expands from inside and forces its way out like smoke billowing out of a burning house. "Hmm?" He hums curiously, bending over to look at the casket underneath him. "Oh dear." The lid is about to explode, and the mortician he finds himself jumping out of the way as if he had been sitting on a boiling kettle.

The coffin door swings upward, defined darker marks in the lining in the shape of hands where the velvet had been scorched by pure heat. Eve sits up. She is not happy.

"If anyone has a request to attempt to kill me," She says coldly, whipping out several knives from her sleeves and wielding the blades between her fist-clenched fingers. "Then they should speak to me directly. How sir, _may I help you?_"

One glaring expression looks at the other, both parties not moving first, but refusing to back down as well. The tension rises as Eve and 'Willy' prepare for anything to happen.

"Oh, you ruined the surprise, my lady! And messed up one of my coffins, too."

Sigh.

Except that.

**…..**

For no reasons she has a hope of explaining, Eve, along with William, (whose full name she learned after a very, _very, _strained introduction via the funeral director,) are continuing the tea party that had been 'so rudely interrupted by Willy', as Undertaker had put it.

"So," she starts off the conversation, with her eyes closed as she refuses to meet William's eyes. "Exactly what, if I may ask, is the problem with my existence?" Her tone is hostile, obviously not appreciative of being sentenced to death a second time. Both she and the reaper in front of her leave their complimentary food and drink untouched.

Meanwhile, Undertaker pretends that neither she nor William exist and offers tea to a guest on his right he had earlier dubbed 'Betty.'

_(No. Reasons.)_

William, not having the audacity to shoot her a disapproving look in front of Undertaker, who Eve assumes he apparently idolizes in some way, simply coughs and adjusts his glasses with the strangely bladed spear he is toting before answering. "It is not so much that the death gods automatically assume that you are a threat to us because of what we know about you, but rather, what we do not." He explains. "There is no guarantee that you will not go insane, or wreak havoc against us, like a _demon._" The comparison causes Eve to bristle at the accusation; she does not enjoy being compared to monsters no better than vampires, either. "However, as you are not really a demon, and because the association has been short on staff for quite a while, you have been given two options."

"… what are they?"

"The first is to be killed."

_They do not know I am immortal. _Eve realizes. Her body language conveys nothing, staying as still a statue, while her mind races to draw conclusions. _But if the death gods really govern over _everyone _that dies, then their numbers must be enormous, staff shortage or not. If they find this out, what would they do? Certainly not let me go… they would keep me locked up. _The prospect repulses her immensely. _I could escape, but they would simply kill me every time._ That would hurt. She would not like that.

"The second is to be converted into a reaper."

She looks up suddenly, and in the darkening light, the brown of her irises appear a shade closer to yellow as they glow with the light of a flickering candle, reflecting it from one of the wax pillars burning dutifully in the shop. "What does that entail?"

"Your soul will be extracted and you will be turned into a god of death. You will lose your memories and start your life over as a grim reaper-in-training. As a death god, your job will be to retrieve souls due to die and serve the association. Whatever you choose, you will not be able to use your brand of magic again."

"Will I be paid?"

"Yes, enough for sundry expenses, board, and recreational purposes."

"How long do I have to decide?"

"A maximum of three days."

There is a stall in the conversation. "And what if I refuse both options?" This answer is quieter than the others, almost a whisper.

William's spear shoots out and reaches across the distance between him and Eve, extending farther than she had thought would be possible. The red blade targets her throat, snapping open and closed, and the girl leans left and avoids it. However, the weapon rebounds faster than she expects and she can only attempt to slap it away as it dives for her a second time. The spear pins her hand to the wall, but the pain Eve flinches for and anticipates does not come. _It does not hurt? _She can feel blood as it trickles down her arm, and the rough texture of the wall against the skin on the back of her hand, but nothing else. In spite of this, Eve is still at a disadvantage, having lost the use of one of her arms.

The glasses on the death god's face flash dangerously. "Then I will reap you." Comes the freezing answer as the blades around her fingers squeeze tighter and the red liquid flows more freely.

"Nnh." Eve grunts, but says nothing.

"Now, now, William! Let's not be too hasty!" Undertaker, who has for the last few minutes been chewing away from his self-made biscuits with an extremely bored expression on his face, chastises William as he wraps his fingers around the shaft of the spear, as a motion to the reaper to remove it. "She hasn't said anything about the matter yet. You'll give her the three days you mentioned, _won't you?_" There is authority in his voice that Eve has never heard before; all of the traces of his usually happy cheer gone, and it is makes him sound much more menacing than the girl has ever heard him sound. The mortician is still smiling, though the grin is now much more threatening than normal, piercing straight through William's formal façade.

"...Of course." The spear retracts and Eve looks at her hand. She still cannot feel any pain, only a tingling that substitutes it. _What is this? _Without seeming to knowing it, she lifts the hand to her mouth and cleans it, licking the blood away. Later on, she will realize what she is doing and wonder what had compelled her to do such (with quite of bit of gagging on her part and giggling on Undertaker's), but for now she is more intent on preventing her wound from becoming infected.

"Very well then." William is speaking again. He gives two nods, one to Eve, and a deeper one to Undertaker, (who duly ignores him), before hoisting himself out of the coffin and bowing, this time only once in the direction of the mortician (who continues denying his existence). "I will return in three days, then."

And so he departs, and Eve is left with nothing but a wound to nurse and the bitter taste of metallic ashes in her mouth.

**…..**

"So, my lady?" Undertaker asks Eve, as he glides over to the opposite side of the shop, to his desk, and shuffles around the various objects sitting on the shelves. He is looking for something.

"So what?" Eve, who is still sitting in a coffin, considering there is no better place to sit, is carefully holding her hand, wondering how to prevent breaking the torn skin further. Perhaps she will ask to borrow bandages from the mortician. _Do funeral directors stock bandages?_

"You'll have to make your choice soon, won't you? Now where did I put it again... Ah hah!" Apparently finding what he is looking for, Undertaker pulls out the object with a flourish and spins on his heel to face the girl. Eve sees a sliver of shine in the candlelight, outlining a needle and thread. "Three days, that's not a long time at all. So, what are you going to pick? Become a death god? Or try your hand at playing a fugitive?" As he says this, the mortician kneels by the girl's seat and takes her hand, holding the needle up to the torn flesh.

"Ah-" Realizing what Undertaker intends to do, Eve speaks up and tries to stop him, as the close physical contact between the two causes her to become restless. "There's no need for you to do that. I can-"

"No, no, I insist." Undertaker does not let go, and if anything, his finger's close all the tighter over Eve's. The touch is still gentle, yet somehow not. "After all, you are a guest, and sewing them up happens to be my job."

"…alright." The girl complies, and relaxes slightly as the lacerations on her hands are bit by bit closed by Undertaker' sewing. She does not wince, despite the needle weaving through her skin.

Undertaker notices this, and smiles in an intrigued way as he finishes up and turns over the appendage as if examining it. "Took that rather bravely, didn't you?"

"No. The wound is not so serious. Even so, I cannot feel anything."

"Oh? And yet, last time I checked, death scythe wounds hurt more than most."

"Do they really?" It is suspicious, the fact that the mortician knows so much about demons and death gods, despite not betraying signs of being anything other than human.

_(I'm an information broker, after all~)_

"There is definitely something abnormal happening with me, then."

"Like what?"

"How would I be aware of that? All I know is that I cannot feel pain or emotions like I did before. Everything is cold and heavy. Wrong."

"Wrong, indeed." Undertaker breathes. There is a flash of his eyes and in them is a spark that can usually be called amusement or mirth, but this time, seems like curiosity. "This would all go away should you choose to become a death god, though, wouldn't it? Your very being would be turned into something else. Made to judge the souls of the dead, day after day…"

"It would." Eve agrees. "Choosing to do so would certainly provide me with a more stable way of living. They offer pay, and board. It would give me a place to stay. But…"

"But what?"

The girl draws her hand away, looking at the mortician's newest handy work, and flexing her hand to ensure that no bones were broken or ligaments were torn.

"If I accept, I will lose my memories."

_And despite how unpleasant some may be, I have reasons to hold on to them. _

"The person I have become and the things I learned… where would they go? I would have to start my life over completely."

_Relive each hardship anew. _

"That is not something I want."

"So will you run?" For the briefest moment, Undertaker's face is so close to Eve's that she can breathe out and blow away his bangs if she wants, until the funeral director moves away to flop himself on his macabre, and only chair, leaning back to balance on its two back legs. He reaches for a skull that had been placed on the desk, and spins it up in the air. Catching it firmly, he holds it out in the girl's direction so the image of the skull is directly eclipsing her face. "Try your hand at luck and see if you can outrun death? I have an aaaaawwwwful lot of information that could help- but it would cost you, heh."

Closing her eyes, the phoenix considers the probability of succeeding. "No. If they really govern the process of death for everyone, then there are too many of them- and I have terrible luck aside."

The amount of light lessens, and Eve turns her head to see one of the candles has been extinguished, the remains of the wax emitting smoke that curls into the air like unraveling feathers. There are five stunted wax pillars still burning, but the way the remaining flames flicker and sway tell Eve that they, too, will soon die out.

Another light fades away and somehow reminds Eve of something. Four candles. "I am tired." She means the statement in more than one way.

"Well, there are plenty of coffins about." Undertaker responds helpfully, seemingly only catching the surface meaning of her words. Another candle runs out of fuel. Three left.

The girl raises an eyebrow. "You own no bed?" Two left; the third last candle has burned out.

"Maybe I do and maybe I don't." The coffin-maker exclaims gleefully, crossing his legs and throwing them onto the surface of his desk. "But that's information, and you know what that costs~!" He ends up knocking off candle off of its station, and its flame dies as it hits the ground.

"Humph." Eve picks up a candlestick and eyes it warily. "Then I will just go to sleep." She does not want to sink into any further debt, regardless of the kind of payment it is. "I am tired."

She sighs heavily, and her breath is enough to push the very last blaze out of existence.

_My life or my freedom..._

**...**

_Three days later…_

Another day passes, and another wasted attempt of getting any kind of income goes with it. It is far more difficult than Eve thinks to find employment.

For one thing, no one running a respectable business will hire her. The moment she ever enters a shop, Eve is instantly met with very unfriendly reactions, not limited to angry and blustering men turning red and shouting at her and asking where her non-existent chaperone is, having various things thrown in her direction (which she had dodged with ease, but that is besides the point), and threats to send her 'back to her own God damn country', which would be quite humorous if Eve did not have such a bleak perspective on life. Most of these things, she admits, are probably owing to the fact she is wearing trousers. And has multi-colored hair. And has absolutely no resume to speak of that does not involve magic and other seemingly impossible things she can be sent to an asylum for talking about as if they are real. (Which they are, but again, that is not the point.)

(Perhaps it is just the fact that she cannot interact well enough with people to explain herself. Whether it is the odd stares she is constantly getting or the notes of suspicion and contempt from people, any time she spends in a building is promptly ended when she is over whelmed with the compulsion to get out of wherever she is.)

For another, the girl cannot even seem to find any occupation involving more shady and untrustworthy operations, either. (Despite her dwindling moral code, Eve had been reluctant to attempt finding a job in this area of expertise, despite her higher probability of succeeding, but in the end she had decided her life is more valuable to her than her ethnics. Still, she is unsure whether or not to regret failing.)

Stumbling into an opium den had cause Eve to sneeze profusely, and it was there that she had learned two things, much to her misfortune: that opium is a highly flammable drug, and that sneezing causes fire to sprout out of her nose. Needless to say, she had ended that night on a rather burnt out note.

And then she had tried finding work as an assassin for the Italian (which is a word to describe things and people that come from a country named 'Italy', Eve had learned) mafia, more specifically a family referring to themselves as the Ferros. Unfortunately, after accidentally provoking the person who had been in charge, the girl had ended up being attacked by the whole lot and later had ended up slaughtering them all. That encounter had not ended very well, either.

And _after that, _someone had promised Eve a job with a high pay and easy tasks to do, only to lead her somewhere that she will later find out from a hysterically laughing Undertaker is commonly named a 'brothel'.

At this point Eve had given up, because she even for her, she had killed too many people for her liking for two days.

_I cannot believe my own incompetence. _Eve pulls that her hair. _This should be so much easier than I have been making it._

It is this apparent inability to support herself that further pushes her to make a decision, the one that had been imposed on her from three days ago. _It obviously looks like the most attractive option… for the time being. I simply do not fit into this place._

And yet she does not want to be turned into someone else.

She does not want to have to bear every bad thing that has happened to her all over again.

She does not want to be so easy to hurt again.

_Is it cannot or will not or should not? Why is it so hard to decide?_

_Left, right, right. _Her thoughts shift over to her route back to Undertaker's as she sees that night is falling, for the fourth time since she had come to England. _I am here._

"Undertaker, I am back." Eve closes the door behind her back and clicks the closing mechanism without looking. "Hello, Mr. Spears." Seeing the reaper already inside, even though it has not yet been exactly thirty-six hours since he had last visited, takes her aback, but the girl does not skip a beat and greets the man anyways with a tilt of her head. It never helps to be polite, no matter who she is talking to. (Although this rule _can, _and _will be _thrown out of the window if said person makes an attempt on her life.) "I trust you have come to hear my decision?"

Standing up from his seat on a coffin, William turns to Eve and answers, "Yes." as he re-adjusts his spectacles. "Please be out with it quickly; this duty is bordering on overtime." More to himself than anyone in the room, he mutters under his breath, "Honestly… to have me deal with an irregularity is simply the worst. This business should be for the General Affairs department."

"You did say that the association was short on staff." Eve decides to remind him not-so helpfully.

"I did." William's words are a tad more clipped now; having found that the girl can hear him, no matter how quietly he talks, the reaper seems to be irritated, though Eve is not too sure why. "Now, what is your decision? Will you agree to be turned into a death god? Yes or no?"

_If I refuse, I lose my life._

_If I agree, I lose myself._

Eve inhales a deep breath, closes her eyes, and says, "No."

That spear of his is stretching itself out again, travelling in a beeline for Eve's throat again, but this time she is ready and knows exactly what to do now. She runs straight towards the blades, but instead of letting herself get cut, the girl dodges them by a hair and keeps going towards the weapon's user.

Four things happen in the same instant. The first is that Eve stops at arms' length in front of William and snaps her left arm, using the momentum to summon her scythe and hold it by the handle that protrudes out of its shaft, against the reaper's throat. The second event is that her right hand reaches backwards and grabs the shaft of the spear, so even if it were to retract, it would no longer be able to cut her. The third is an act of William, who takes a step back and stiffens, but cannot make any move other than pull on his spear, because his one method of attack is compromised and the sight of the suddenly materializing weapon gives him second guesses about how lethal this non-death scythe thing can be.

And the fourth?

The fourth thing is simply Undertaker giggling behind his sleeve, his previous bored expression evaporating to give way to amusement. "And _now _things are getting fun." He snickers.

"At least, let me explain, before jumping to conclusions." Eve says this through grit teeth, fighting to keep her current position as she and the reaper play tug-of-war.

She is not the only one struggling, however, as when William answers, "…fine." His voice is equally strained. There is a snap as she lets go and puts down her scythe, resting it at her side. "You have thirty seconds." He states.

"I said I would not agree to being turned into a death god." Eve starts to say. "However, I have a proposal for a compromise we may both be satisfied with."

The reaper frowns even more so than usual; his brows knit deeper together and his grip on his spear tightening just a fraction, but he does not stop the girl, so she continues. "Let me work for you. The reapers are short on staff and I do not wish to have my memories wiped. I already have experience in judging, fighting, and execution. It would not be difficult for me to quickly learn how to work as one of you. I can still be watched as an employee, and even so I assure you I have no reason to revolt against the association."

"You probably do not trust me words, but… In an environment in which I am completely surrounded by death gods, there is no way for me to do anything against the rules without being instantly caught. By the time I have finished any training that is required, I should have earned enough trust to be able to operate on my own."

William's eyes, and now that she looks closer at them, Eve can see they are quite similar in coloring to Ronald's something she takes note of, shift to Undertaker, who taps his nose in an obscure, knowing way that is enough to make him pull his lips back in a begrudged scowl and say, "That will be fine, then. Someone will come here to fetch you tomorrow morning."

And this is how Eve has come to work for the reapers.

* * *

**And that's the end of the prologue! I don't think I'll be writing any other original arcs, I promise, but this one is necessarily to tie up loose ends from the prequel (which OH GOOOOODDDSSS DID I MENTION WAS BAD-)**

**Now enjoy your other odd Undertaker stories.**

**Hey, is Undertaker your favorite character? He's mine. _Looooovvvee _how he trolls everyone.**


	3. First Day of School

**August's update is one day early today, becuase I'm going on vacation for a month! As such, September's will also be delayed by about a week. Don't worry though; I still intend to update consistantly! I've hit a bit of writer's block concerning the fifth chapter, but I'm working through it. Hopefully. It's more a challange of getting what I want down on paper the right way I want it too. Of well.**

**This chapter is Eve's first day of school! Reaper school! I made is as interesting as I could but no promises!**

* * *

Rough awakenings are something that Eve is quite used to. Whether it is sound of dying screams of slaughter, or the heavy steps of someone foolish enough to attempt kidnapping her, or her sister excitedly shaking her to get up because there is some miracle happening outside like a triple rainbow or unicorn migration, although she tries hard not to think about the latter one, she has just as well suffered every kind rude, abrupt, and slash or unkind awakening anyone can really have experienced.

So imagine her surprise when she awakens to… the smell of baking. _Cookies of all things?_ Of all of the things she does not expect, this takes the cake. _Cookies. Oh, never mind it. _But in spite of this, it makes sense. _He ran out last night, if I recall._

_… where exactly _is _that smell coming from?_ No matter which way she looks, Eve cannot see any entrance to a kitchen of any kind, but the scent of baking sugar stills hangs in the air and clings to the inside of her mouth. Rising from the lid of her coffin-bed, where she had ended up finding more comfortable than the interior of the casket itself, something she did not find odd as she was quite used to sleeping on hard surfaces, the girl scans the ceiling, walls, and floor for some doorway to a room that is not occupied by coffins and dead people.

The floor? _No. _The trapdoor she had used in previous years is gone, and despite looking in all of the other coffins lying on the floor and even knocking on the cold stone beneath her feet to find some secret panel, there is nothing unusual about it. Well, aside from the jar with a whole heart inside it…

The ceiling? _Another no. _There is nothing there aside from a chandelier, laden with unlit candles.

The walls, however, are another story entirely. Along with even more coffins, some thin and carved pieces of wood, and a shelf in the back, there are plenty of knick-knacks for Eve to shuffle through while continuing to sniff out where Undertaker can be. It is not until she gets to the bookshelf that the thought occurs to her that there may be a passageway that can be revealed with the removal of a well chosen book. _I doubt it… but knowing Undertaker, it would be the exact thing he would do. And he probably decorates wherever he is the same way as here, too. _She examines the titles. From 'Advanced Human Anatomy' to 'A Study of the Unstable Nature of Freaks', every one of them is about some equally morbidly fascinating subject, and completely typical for a mortician to own. Except the latter. That one… is just strange.

Not able to decide which book to pick, Eve ends up pulling each and every one of them out one at a time. To her surprise, or maybe not, or maybe so… her theory actually _works, _and the shelf eventually slides aside to reveal a staircase that yes, is dark and gloomy and dimly lit only by candles fixed into the walls, despite the morning sun shining outside. As this happens, Eve simply stands there with an incredibly annoyed expression for a while, before she then decides to just go up the stairs and find the funeral director already.

"Undertaker?" The girl pops her head through the nearest door, where the scent of baked treats is the strongest.

The man in question looks at Eve, his eyes for once uncovered. He waves in a spidery sort of way. "Good morning, my lady! Care for a cookie? I just baked a cake, too!"

She looks at him, then down at the cookies, then at the cake that is sitting on the counter, then back. And then down and down and up once more, just to be sure. "You are baking cookies." Eve states redundantly, as if Undertaker had just said almost the exact same thing not twenty seconds earlier, while staring at man in front of her. Hard.

"Mm hmmm." He does not give a coherent answer, for he is now happily munching on a newly-birthed cookie as he is doing this.

"You... Wear an apron whenever you do so?"

"Mmmmmm hmm." She takes this for a yes.

"And it is pink."

"Mmmm."

"And frilly."

"Hm."

"...and it comes with a matching cap."

At this, he finishes his morbid, sugary treat and swallows audibly. "But of course." He chirps in cheerful response. "I can't go bake cookies with all this hair in the way, now can I?" His eyes are hooded in a look of lazy seductiveness, but the effect is completely ruined by all the light pink and lacy fabric his is wearing, not to mention the strange backwards bonnet he has strapped to his head to sweep the normally present silver fringe out of his face.

"And it is also frilly." Anyone else would have started to laugh or burst into tears by this point of the conversation.

"And pink, isn't it lovely?" He holds up the skirts of the bright fabric and bows in a curtsy. Although the outfit somehow suits him _slightly_, Eve has to admit with great reluctance, the amount of WRONG the whole thing is simply blows everything out of proportion.

"..." She is at a loss for words, except, "I really don't know how to respond to that."

"Ah, that aside, how did you sleep, my lady?" Eve watches as Undertaker starts to strip off the apron and bonnet-thing, much to her relief, and then wags a cookie in front of her face, still warm.

She eyes the treat, but does not eat it, instead opting to yawn, covering her mouth with the back of a hand. "Not very well."

"Neeeerrrvoooous?"

"No." Eve has not been nervous for anything in a long time. "It has more to do with all the tea and cookies I have been consuming, I think. You put far more sugar in them than if recommended."

"Is that sooo?"

"Yes." Is the answer.

" I rather like sweet things, though." The mortician muses while biting off the end of a bone. "They are far more likeable than bitter ones, don't you think?"

Eve is trying to concentrate on a witty retort, but is experiencing a rare moment of failure as she finds herself unable to rip her thoughts away from Undertaker's… previous manner of dress, only managing to do so when a small noise from the floor below catches her attention. "Hmm? Someone knocked."

With fluid movements, she glides down the stairs and watches the door intently, followed by Undertaker, who does the same. Maybe scrutinizing everything that can possibly be a threat is a habit she may need to break, but for now, that is not stopping her from tensing and crouching behind a coffin in case the visitor turns out to be someone she needs to kill.

"Paranoid, aren't you?" Undertaker teases. "Don't worry; it's just the reaper Willy sent for you."

"I prefer the word 'cautious'." Eve replies. "It makes me look a great deal less insane."

Striding past Eve, the information-broker wraps his hand around the doorknob and pulls it open, slowly, so the squeaking of the hinges is especially pronounced.

It is Ronald Knox, hands in his pockets.

"Yo." He chirps.

"…Hello." The instant friendliness catchers Eve off guard, but she slips her knives away anyways.

**…..**

_… what is this place?_

Eve had never seen anything quite like it. Workers dressed in suits buzz about with various things to do, talking in small groups and all carrying some kind of bladed weapon. The premises is colorless, a stark white that contrasts with the black of the reapers' unifroms. The building she is in itself is _tall, _very tall,almost impossibly so, and Eve cannot help but wonder how long it would take her to fly to the roof from the ground floor.

And the _aesthetics _themselves are completely alien to her. Everything is neat and simple; the smoothness of the floors and desk surfaces, the way everyone's clothing looks, and sight of a massive group of people lumped together and engaged in the same activity betray notions from a completely different time. Drinking it in, Eve's eyes dart about as she takes a mental picture of everything she sees, while simultaneously listening in on Ronald's lecture.

"This is the London Division's Grim Reaper Association." The blond-black haired reaper says, in a casual tone with his arms stretched behind his head, as he glances behind him to give Eve a reassuring grin and wink. She does not change her bored looking expression, so Ronald just turns back around and keeps talking. "Our main job is to reap souls, after judging whether or not the target deserves to die. Most of the time, they do, because the only humans we spare are ones whose actions can totally alter mankind. We have a bunch of branches, like Management, General Affairs, and other stuff, but the particular branch _you've _been put in is the Dispatch branch. You're in training right now, which starts at 8 o'clock sharp, so try not to be late."

"We already are."

"...What?" Ronald turns around, his smile frozen.

Eve points to a clock on the wall. "It is five minutes past eight. We are late. At least, I am. Was this excused earlier because of commuting?"

His cool essentially broken, the reaper opens his mouth, closes it immediately after, but then speaks again as he grabs Eve's wrist with an apologetic smile. "Come with me."

He seems to have difficulty arriving on time to important occasions.

At this point, the two have passed by the large open rooms of people working and entered via several staircases a labyrinth of hallways with plain looking doors lining the side, distinguishable only by a number plastered on the front. When they reach a particular door, labeled '444', the blond opens it and holds it so for Eve to enter, saying, "Ladies first."

"Thank you. " Eve's response is quiet, but still hard, as she walks through without a second glance.

She had entered a lecture style room; William is standing in the front, giving a speech that had been earlier summarized for Eve by Ronald, and going into detail especially how the learning system works, being broken into the three parts of practical, writing, and ethics. Arranged in a semi-circle enclosing him are two rows of desks, attached both to their respective chairs and to another desk, making them duos. The second row is elevated on something like a staircase, designed to fit rows of desks.

Being as quiet as she usually is, William either does not hear her enter, or is pretending that he does not, so Eve simply picks the nearest unoccupied desk to sit in. It is on the far left side of the second row, and is also the only empty one, aside from its own conjoined twin.

_He is still giving introductory speeches, _Eve notes on William's words, which have since shifted to the dangers of demons. _So in terms of the learning, I should not be too far behind. The rest of the students are quite young as well…probably about my age in physical appearance._

_Let me see… they are all wearing glasses. All but two are male. All but one is dressed to what I assume is a dress code._

_Three of them are very passive in nature, while five are aggressive and may cause me trouble._

_All of them are writing something, mostly about the content of Mr. Spears' lecture._

_Those are odd pens... not very sharp compared to a quill, but thicker and sturdier looking. If you plunged it into an artery..._

Eve then realizes she had been thinking strategies to kill people again, and decides to try not to.

Finished with analyzing the kids themselves, she looks down at the paper and stick thing on her desk. The others are using the stick thing, a pen of some kind, to write words on the paper, but for the life of her, Eve cannot figure out how to turn it on. Perhaps hers is broken. _I will have to make do with listening for now, then._

"The three days will be an introduction to the practical, written, and ethical aspect of reaping respectively." William ends the lecture an hour later. "After which we will go into detail for each unit in preparation for your final exam. As for the rest of today, we will continue learning about the matter of demons, angels, and interference from other supernatural beings, as the subject does not fall into any of those three categories but is still an important part of the reaper's job. Are there any questions?"

A few people raise their hands, while the rest either look as if they have nothing to worry about or like they have absolutely no idea where their mind was the past sixty minutes. Raking his eyes over the crowd, William decides to call on Eve first and say, "Miss Britford?"

Sixteen students do not react while four look at the girl and wonder exactly where she had appeared from. "Yes, sir," she replies, holding up the thing she thinks is a pen. "What is this called and how do you use it?"

**…..**

("-And she didn't even know how to use the pen!" One of the two other girls in the class, an older-sounding one, snickers to the boys surrounding her seat.

The aforementioned stranger is referring to how William had to walk up to Eve, take her pen, and twist the top half to reveal the nib, handing it back to her, though not before telling her to come see him at the end of the lessons.

"She has, like, a _lot _of catching up to do if she wants to be even with me."

"Are you sure about that, Brandi? She could have just transferred from another division or something." One the boys mentions.

"Without even being here for any of the preliminaries? Please." Brandi scoffs. "You're looking at the girl who aced the tests she didn't even _show up at_. The rank of first in class. Is. Mine.")

("So, how long do we have until the final examination?" This question is coming from a boy, whose tone is laden with confusion.

His seat partner answers, "Ah… three months, I think. One for each unit and then we have a month for the examination itself. I dunno. They said they might shorten it. The time, I mean."

"What! Why?" The first boy is flustered right now. "It's already hard enough as it is! Are they trying to get us to fail?"

"Well, the division _is _short on staff… not to mention apparently we have a lot of good people here."

"Right, right. Three girls this time; apparently that's a record. Don't they usually go into General Affairs or something like that?"

"Think so.")

All of the pupils are currently having a lunch break, in which, Eve garners, they are allowed to relax and eat a lunch which can be bought from a cafeteria, using an allowance supposedly given to them at the end of each learning day. Unfortunately for Eve, who has neither a lunch nor any kind of money, there is nothing to do but sit in her seat and subconsciously eavesdrop on the conversation of everyone in the room while writing her notes down on paper.

"Hi!"

That is, there _is _until someone tugs on her sleeve and continues with no intention of stopping until Eve decides to engage the person in conversation.

The one on her right is the last of the three girls in the entire group of nineteen. The girl is petite, long-haired, and is the only one be-decked in red that Eve has seen since coming to the reaping department, from her childish shiny shoes to the bow at the back of her neck to the straight-bang hairstyle on her head, which is a powdery shade of red that Eve cannot tell is natural or not. Her expression is friendly, a big difference from the Eve's, which has been emotionless the entire time.

"Hi!" She says again. "The name's Felicia Rorn, what's yours?"

Eve is not one to participate in conversations very much, but if it stops Felicia from bothering her, she supposes, there would not be much harm in doing so. "Evangeline Sonata Brittford." She answers, and then turns away again to her notes, in a subtle way telling the redhead that she does not want to talk.

Said redhead does not get the hint by a long shot, and her one question morphs into a barrage, a very, very, _loud one,_ that spews out of her mouth and right into Eve's ear. "That's such a pretty name!" She gushes. "Were you a noble lady once? I heard that lots of noble people have really fancy names with lots of syllables. What's with your eyes? There anything wrong with them? Did you find it hard to pass the preliminaries? Are you a genius like Brandi is? How does it feel to be one of three girls in the class? Don't you think it's strange? That there are only three of us, I mean. Hey, what do you think of our mentors? Do you like William? What about Grell-sempai? Have you met her yet? Do you like her too? I think she's the coolest, she's like a big sister!"

"…" Eve, in response, pauses and groans inwardly. _What have I done? _She thinks, regretting ever answering the very persistent girl. "Yes, nothing, no, no, yes, I do not care, I do not care, nothing in particular, I do not care, I do not care, yes, no." She responds in quick succession, her tone similar to that of a robot.

"Eh? Why not? Grell-sempai's awesome!"

_Sempai? _Although the word confuses her, it is not imperative to the discussion, so Eve ignores the foreign word and answers. "Probably because the first time we met, he impaled me with his death scythe and then left me."

Eve does not know why, but Felicia's jaw drops wide, to an almost impossibly cartoonish extent, at her choice of words. "What are you saying?" The redhead is dropping her voice to a low whisper, talking behind her hand. "Don't tell me you…. You… you know!"

"…I am saying," Since the Lolita laden girl seems to be slow at understanding things; Eve decides to talk slower and to use actions to explain things to her. "That he took his death scythe, shoved it into my stomach, and then left me there to die." As she says this, her hands hold an imaginary sword and plunge it into her stomach, before ripping it out with far more realism than a fake blade has business having.

"Um… oh. That's… _different _to what… I thought you were… talking… about… Hey, speak of the devil! Demon! Death god! Whatever! Grell-Sempai, you're back!" Felicia's clumsy response is cut off as she instantly perks up upon seeing another redhead pass through the door.

To Felicia's undying happiness and Eve's ever-living horror, the raven-haired reaper in training will later be told that Grell is in fact in suspension and therefore had been forced into co-mentoring the new death gods along with William, even though he has the tendencies to delay his arrival by several, several, hours. And flirt with the many male trainees in the class. And threaten some of the others.

For now, however, she will just look in the general direction of the red-decked reapers, look away, and lay her head down to become harder to see. She does not feel like trifling with such troublesome people, especially one is such as Grell Sutcliff.

**…..**

By the time the lessons are over, Eve has learned and memorized various ways to identify (white wings and glowing red irises with slit pupils respectively), dispatch (with the use of a death scythe), and properly treat (with indifference, as always, until they try to interfere with a reaping) the various angels and demons that death gods can encounter.

(It so happens that the particular demon she first had met was in fact a rather weak one- one that messily sampled the first available dish he saw. This is just as well, as not knowing at the time how to kill demons meant that if Ronald had not shown up when he had, Eve could have been killed. )

By the time the lessons are over, though, she also knows that it is time to see William as asked, so she stops thinking about the matter. "You wanted to see me, sir?" The not-dead reaper in training asks as she walks up to the desk in the front of the room.

William finishes writing a sentence on the notes in front of him, adjusts his glasses with his hand, and closes his file before addressing Eve. "Yes. It is time for some housekeeping." His tone is just as cold and unwelcoming as when she had first met her, as Eve herself, in fact, but at the very least the teacher is not threatening to kill her this time around. "You are to come with me." Standing up and tucking his file under his arm, he grabs his scythe and walks out, and Eve takes this as a sign to follow.

They walk to the end of the hallway, down two flights of stairs, past two closed double doors with no label on them, and through the entirety the Administrative department until they reach a large open space with a great many tables and machines sitting on top that are being looked at, or maybe through, by a reaper on both sides. Once again, Eve cannot fathom how such things work, but once again, no, she does not really care. _So long as I am not told to operate such a thing without training, I should be fine. _So Instead of ogling the peculiar machinery, she concentrates on William's words. "It is mandatory for all reapers to wear glasses, and for reapers in training to carry basic death scythes. As such, please come with Miss Carter here to have your eyes examined for your first pairs of glasses." Her superior introduces a middle-aged woman with cat-eye glasses and kind eyes.

"Hello, Miss Britford." The taller woman gives a friendly smile that Eve does not return. "Mr. Spears has already filled me in on your situation, please take a seat and we'll get started."

**…..**

"Because of the nature of the glasses themselves, you will not receive them for a week or so. The same goes for your room, as the paperwork has yet to be completed. I apologize for the delay, but you will have to seek other arrangements until then. For now, you will be issued a starter scythe." William tells Eve, checking off something in his now open-again file folder. After a long, arduous hour of having she does not know what being measured by various instruments, and being told to stick her head into various things, Eve, along with William, have thankfully left the Glasses Department behind, and they are walking briskly to wherever they are going next.

_Ah, if I yet to receive board, I will have to stay at the Undertaker's then… paying this back will not be pleasant. _Eve thinks to herself.

In front of another generic looking door with the number '997' engraved on it, William finally stops, turns on his heel, and addresses the girl once more. "Since you were not present for the preliminary lessons please remember that this is where starter scythes for reapers in training are stored. You will be given this scythe to work with until you pass your final exam, after which you will receive your own personal death scythe. Until then, no customizations are allowed. Also, you have what is identified as a magical weapon in your possession?"

_Magical weapon? _"That… is not how it is usually referred to, but yes." She does not know what William is getting at; the name is rather ridiculous sounding if you would ask her, but Eve guesses that the superior is talking about her scythe.

"Alright then. Please hand it over."

Eve obeys immediately and without hesitation, pulling her weapon out of thing air from behind her back and giving it to the superior, but says, "May I ask why?"

"It will have to be confiscated indefinitely. Non-death scythe weapons of that nature are not allowed by the higher ups. Irregulars," The man answers stiffly, "Must be dealt with, and with the highest caution. This includes you."

"I see. I understand, then." Eve says with no feeling, as William puts her scythe away and withdraws what looks like a smaller version of it: a starter scythe.

_It is roughly the same shape, _the girl takes the scythe, and promptly turns in over in her hands, automatically comparing it to her now previous weapon on instinct. _But is also smaller, with a wider blade. I will be able to use it the same way, but in a much smaller range. The number of people I will be able to fight at one time will decrease, too. This will be sufficient- for now._

"And this if your pay for the day." The supervisor is handing her something else again, and Eve wonders how many things is he capable of holding at a time, before taking it: a plain white envelope. She looks inside, and sees several papery notes with numbers on them, a far cry from the gold pieces she is used to with currency.

_Well, just another thing for Undertaker to explain to me. And another thing for me to pay him for… even though he refuses the Queen's coins, as he puts it. I wonder if he accepts paper notes, then…_

**…..**

"Hey! Fancy seeing you here!" Eve is standing at the foot of the duo doors she had passed by before, pondering several thoughts in her head with her hand at her mouth until she hears a semi-familiar voice call to her and she shifts her eyes momentarily to see Ronald, his blond… black-haired… whatever the word for it is called face lit up with a confident friendliness. "All of the other trainees usually spend their free time elsewhere… what are you doing in front of the library doors?"

She… needs to explain herself, apparently. "I am debating whether it is alright for me to enter these doors. This is where the books are kept, are they not?"

"Um, yes, but what would you need with those?" Ronald notices the intense stare Eve is giving the library doors and stands beside her, leaning down so his eyes are the same height as hers to look that them, trying to see if there is some kind of unknown picture drawn on them that the girl is looking at by staring reaaalllly hard. He fails.

"I need to borrow some."

"…" The blond is confused. "No offense, but you're waaaaaay to early to be looking that the record books."

"Not the record books. Other ones. Are any kept here?"

"Oh!" A light bulb lights up his eyes. "That's the other library; it's a few floors up. I can show you, if you like."

Eve is a little wary of Ronald's eagerness to help, but she accepts his aid anyways with an "Okay." and follows the reaper to the 'other library'.

**…..**

The 'other library' in question is, as Ronald shows Eve, smaller than the records library, but still rather spacious. It has a warmer atmosphere than the rest of the building she has seen, featuring carpet floors instead of cold stone tiles and a warmer color palette than the usual icy blue and white.

"And this is it!" The reaper holds open the door again, smiling charmingly. "It's got novels, textbooks, anything you need to keep yourself busy for a few hundred years. Though personally, I'm not too sure if you'd want to do that; there's so many par-"

"Can I ask you something, Mr. Knox?" Eve is immediately looking through the books so Ronald cannot see her face.

"Yeah?"

"What is your ulterior motive here?"

"… what?" The blonde repeats the question for a second time that day.

She is referring to the fact that he had bothered to actually guide her not only to the reaper realm, but to this library as well, all while grinning as if it was the most natural thing in the world for him. If she knows anything about the kindness of others, it is that they never display it without some kind of reward for them, especially for strangers they have never met. They simply _did not_.

And the fact that Ronald is currently disproving her makes for the most unsettling thing of all.

"Are you hiding something?" This time, the suspicion in her voice is impossible to misunderstand.

"Ah, well," There is hesitation, embarrassment, and other unimportant feelings in his words. "Spears-sempai explained to me about your whole 'special case' thing going on, and because I'm one of the few people who know, the association's trying to keep it a secret by involving as few people as possible." Ronald explains. "So if I help you out and keep you out of trouble, I get to duck loads of the overtime I've racked up! And that means more free time, see?"

"Ah, so that is it."

"You know," The reaper keeps talking even as Eve gives the pretense of ignoring him by selecting and borrowing a series of very hefty, dusty, volumes, with the exception of one thin paperback. "I forgot to tell you this morning, but every week we all like to go out and have a group date when the workload's the lightest, and today happens to be it, would you like to come? I can introduce to everyone else, and we could get to know each other…"

"No thank you." Eve shoots him down immediately. She hoists the now checked out, enormous stack of books onto her head and starts to leave. "I am busy tonight."

"…with what?" The girl can understand Ronald's tone; it is the first day of lessons. There is nothing to be really occupied with.

In answer, Eve quietly makes a noise between 'ah' and 'ugh', which comes out of her mouth sounding like "Uahgh." She twitches just a little bit, the tower of bound paper mimicking her movements. "I have catching up to do. And a debt to pay." She responds dejectedly.

**…..**

Giggles.

Titters.

Chortles.

Snickers.

And every other kind of reaction- except laughter.

Eve has been sitting on a _coffin, _reading all kinds of humorous stories and jokes for Undertaker from the _one book_ on the subject she was able to find in the library, for _three hours straight_. The man has given her responses in the form of giggles, titters, chortles, and snickers, and every other kind of reaction- _except laughter._

Just barely, just _barely, _she feels the slightest bit of anger, if it is in fact anger, and not the urge to strangle anyone or set anything on fire, because it could very well be one of the other options too.

"What." She commences asking, as she indulges in something that a person with a more creative vocabulary can describe as 'head-coffin', punctuating each pause with another clash of skull and wood, "Will it take. To get you. To laugh?" Her voice is more muffled and unreadable than usual, but the funeral director seems to derive all the more amusement from the fact.

"Ehhhhhhh, more than that, I know for sure." Undertaker answers snidely, mirroring Eve's own response from she cannot bother to remember how long before. This subtle jab gets a giggle, from the mortician of course, as he enjoys his own horrible joke, but still no full-blown laughter.

With half of her face mashed against the carved surface of her seat, the girl watches Undertaker do this with the uncovered half of her face and scowls a partial scowl, the left corner of her mouth drawn back with a "Tch." She lifts her head from the casket, rubbing the shape of a swirl that has now imprinted itself on her skin, which causes the Undertaker to snicker and titter at the same time. (At this rate, Eve will have to start making up words to even begin to describe the noises he is making.) "In the end, it is not so much my sense of wit and humor that makes you like this, but my own humiliation." She complains under her breath. "How much more of a fool do I have to make of myself?"

"It's because you're so terrible at telling jokes." The silver-haired man says bluntly. His hands wrap around the worn out text in Eve's lap and snatch it out of her grip with an almost audible 'yoink'. He leafs through the pages, sifting through the words with but a glance. "But your own natural, well, _reactions _to everything are just so _funny! _I don't think I've ever met someone who acted so incredibly _awkward _around people. After all, who doesn't know how to use a pen?"

"That is hardly my fault." Eve huffs in defense. "I have only ever used quill pens to this day. How was I supposed to know other varieties-" she is about to say "existed?" But stops as her face is attacked by a flying projectile known as the common book. "Eh- What is this?" She peels the thing off of her face to see it is open to pages further back towards the end. Upon reading the actual words, however, her answer is unfortunately answered, and she almost squeals as she sets the book pages down on her lap. "_What-_"

"Because you're currently my guest~" Comes the explanation. "And since I'm starting to feel very sorry for you, I'll give you a discount for today." The mortician is having trouble saying this with a straight face, as his face twitches and it becomes obvious that he is struggling to hold in his mirth. "If you read _this,_" here, he points at a certain… _passage. _"I'll accept it, whether I laugh or not. How about that?"

After an awkward turtle of a pause, Eve finally sputters, "Why would you have me read such a… an… _inappropriate _thing? Have you no taste?" She is starting to feel weird. Not dead-person-personality weird, not what-in-blazing-hell-am-I-doing weird, just plain WEIRD.

"And here IIIIIIIII thought you would have no qualm about doing such a thing- you seem so uncaaaarring lately. I thought this particular ditty would sound especially funny coming out of your mouth, given how you've been behaving. Sometimes contradictions-" He grins wider here. "Are the most fun things of all."

"… I admit my reactions to, well, everything in general have been stunted as of late." The girl retorts, looking over the obscene ditty in front of her. "But that does not mean I am a machine. I have likes and dislikes. I have standards. And my _standards_," Now it is Eve's turn to present (read: shove) the book to the mortician's face, "Are completely against such a thing."

"Ah, but you are getting behind on your debt, aren't you, my lady? This is a good chance I wouldn't pass up if I were you~"

With a sigh that morphed halfway into a horrified shiver, Eve silently acknowledges that Undertaker is completely right. So, mustering up her courage, and taking the collection of jokes from the man, she hides herself using it and reads out in a monochromatic tone:

"There once was a woman in Q,

Who filled her vagina with glue.

And she said with a grin,

'If they pay to get in,

Then they'll pay to get out of it, too.'"

Undertaker watches as the girl reads out the dirty limerick with absolutely no feeling in her voice, but alongside tightening fingers and trembling hands, and look at him with cold eyes over the leather backing of the text. The sheer absurdity of the scenario in front of him is enough to make his mouth twitch upwards.

And then crack open.

And then spurt forth the biggest laugh Eve has heard from him, no, heard ever in her life.

"AHAHAHAHAHAAHAH! HAHAHAHA! HAHA!" He falls off the coffin and starts to roll on the floor, hitting it with one hand, clutching his stomach with the other. "She did that with her… HAHA! And you said it with a straight face… HAHAHA… the entire time I… HAHAH!" He manages to say, before dissolving into laughter again. "HAHAHAHAHAHA! HA!"

Eve looks at the mortician from above, her face looking directly at his from above. She has had quite enough of this absurdity. "I am glad you find such joy from my misery." She does not sound very glad at all. "Then this will suffice, yes?"

"Yes, yes, of course, my lady! Heh…"

Satisfied that Undertaker is as well, Eve decides, as she reaches for another book, this one much bigger and titled "The Discussion of the Ethics of Reaping Human Prodigies" that it is time to read about more important things than jokes.

* * *

**It has occured to me that the way Eve is now, she is a very boring person. Serious, non-chalant, she's almost like William exactly! In an effort to keep this story interesting, I have tried doing so by making all kinds of unfortunate stuff happen to her. Don't worry, I'll torture her into being a much more interesting person later on, but for now make do with laughing at her suffering like Undertaker.**

**Wooooow. If I ever met my OC's in real life, this chick would _kill me._**


	4. Riddikulus

**When one writes satire, parody, and for that matter many kinds of high humor, there is a fine line between making clever twists and observations and just making everything ridiculously hard to understand. And even then, there is _another _line there between making that ridiculous exaggeration funny and simply mussing it up completely as to just piss off readers. Do I think I managed to land on the right side of the line this time?**

**The short answer is, "No."**

**The long one is, "NUUUUUUUUUPPPPE!" With my lips making a popping sound at the end as I say it.**

**Honestly, I planned to have Brandi be a regular Alpha bitch and then flesh out her character later on, which I'm still doing, but I'm taking Alpha bitch a bit too strangely and nonsensically here.**

**But I'm tired, and lucky enough to even have internet here in China, so here you go. Ronald hangs half naked from a chandelier in this chapter.**

**Yes, I said that right. Keep reading, silly little readers going "WHAT."**

* * *

"Here ya go! Your new glasses!"

The very first thing Ronald does a week later, when he is greeting Eve as he is about to take her to the Association headquarters, is smile a flirtatious smile and wave charmingly as is he does this every day, which he probably does. It is something that has become routine, as Eve's inability to create portals between realms has resulted in Ronald being given the duty to be her guide to and from the Association from then on.

It is his second action towards Eve that draws more of her attention, however, which is slip out a black rectangular container from nowhere and press it into the girl's hand before she could protest against being touched. "Well, not new, per se, I guess." He semi-corrects himself. "You still have newbie frames- but the lenses were replaced, since you're the first reaper- ah, person ever to have perfect vision. Ever. I think what happens is that you can customize the frame when you pass your exam like always, but you have to keep the same kind of lenses."

To clarify what the blond is talking about, Eve swings the lid on its hinges and carefully lifts her pair of spectacles out. As Ronald had said, the frame is identical to what every other trainee has; a dull, watered down grey in color, round in shape about the eyepieces, and fitted with weak and flimsy stems, but the glass pieces that compose the lenses themselves are not cracked or worn in the slightest. In fact, they are completely flat, and in pristine condition, not cracked or muddied at all.

The lenses are, however, tinted a peculiar color…

"Go ahead, try them on." Ronald coaxes her, shoving his now empty gloved hands in his pockets. "You'll have to wear it twenty-four seven from here on out anyways. At least when you're on the clock."

Eve does so, putting the surprising heavy glasses on. Even though her vision is not warped in the slightest, she still blinks to adjust to the change. "May I ask why they are green?" She asks, pointing out the unorthodox shading of the glass.

"You know about cinematic records, right?"

Recalling the information from the lecture from yesterday and the books she had read, Eve answers, "Yes."

"Well, taking to account that your eyes are different than ours, you have to wear the glasses to see the records. I think the green tint's some kind of filter… so, how's it like?"

"What, wearing the glasses?"

"Well, yeah."

She gives the most obvious answer. "It is green. Everything is green." Although her entire surroundings haven't exactly turned into an emerald city, there is a lime tint to everything she looks at. Eve is still blinking owlishly.

Chuckling good-naturedly, Ronald walks around Eve so he is in front of her, regarding her newly-spectacled face. He smiles a winning smile, white pearls shining in a scarce ray of London sunshine, apparently pleased with what he sees, for… whatever reason. "Your eyes look more like ours too. Well, sorta. They're green-yellowish, but all around. It's enough that you don't have to worry about standing out too much. They're really cool, you look fine."

"…" Uncomforted by the close contact, Eve averts her eyes. "Is that so?" She says under her breath. "Well, then, let us move on quickly, please. We have wasted enough time and it will not do for us to be late."

**…..**

"By the way, I am perfectly capable of finding the classroom now, so from now on you will not need to walk me there."

"Got it! By the way, come to the upper library after class. I should have your room key, then."

"That will be fine."

**…..**

"Excuse me, Mr. Spears?" The flavor of Brandi La Fenza's words is sugar sweet, as she smiles prettily at her superior, who is sitting in his usual spot behind his walnut desk where he is in the habit of completely paperwork as he always does for a few minutes before lessons always start. Brandi has already picked up the routine during her first week of lessons, and she intends to use it to her advantage. After all, she should not have to wait until the end of the academy day for academic help, did she? That would be nonsensical.

Her superior glances upwards from his work. He must be filling out overtime pay requests, as per usual. "Miss La Fenza." He greets in his constant, curt, way of his. "Do you have a question?"

"Yes, actually." The blonde inclines her head in a nod of respect. "I was wondering about the grade I received on that essay we wrote yesterday. You see, I'm not entirely satisfied with it and- hn?"

"Got it! By the way, come to the upper library after class. I should have your room key, then."

Who is that? Craning her neck, Brandi can see… a guy. A really _hot _one, with swirling two-tone hair and a cute smile, too. He isn't one of the trainees, so what is he doing here?

And with him is- oh, _Miss_ _Brittford…_ the one who does not know how to use a_ pen_. She must rather chummy with him if they're planning to meet after class. _I wonder…_

"Ah, Miss Britford." William, now ignoring Brandi, diverts his attention to the newest arrival in the room. Damn, ust when is she going to get her question answered! Class is about to start! "I see you have arrived on time today."

"I am sorry for that." She bows, actually _bows, _like she's some servant stuck in the eighteenth century. "Mr. Knox's schedule only allowed him to show me the whole of the Association during the mornings. I assure you, it will not happen again from now on."

"Very well then. Come to receive your marked assignment." William beckons her with one hand, while Brandi notices for the last time that there is one last paper, a mock report of an actual reaping, that has yet to be handed out, belonging to the shorter girl. Unable to resist seeing what the other girl got on her own essay, Brandi leans over as Miss Britford takes it in her hand.

Wait a minute.

Wait just a fucking minute.

How did that girl- the one who probably doesn't even know how to write properly- get a _higher mark than her?_

"Ah, excuse me." She delves back into the conversation. "I just wanted to know exactly what cost me those last two marks-"

"You had bias."

Brandi's gaze snaps to look at Miss Britford, suddenly hostile as her brow furrows and her ruby lips draw back in pursed lips. "Excuse me?"

"Your report had bias in it. That is what cost you one of the marks." The emotionless girl adjusts her weirdly colored glasses, like she is pretending to be the instructor currently sitting in his desk. (Why are they green? They have no business being green…)

William just nods. His behaviour is automatic, like he is content to let Eve do the talking. "That is correct."

"And how would you know that?" Her words are like a sour apple, vindictive and suspicious as she interrogates the girl.

"You were reading out several parts before you handed it in. I heard everything."

"!" _She heard?_

"And the fact that you divulged information about what was meant to be an independent project is what cost you the second mark."

"Also correct." William adds, completely indifferent, or maybe oblivious, to Brandi's indignation and fury. "Now, if that answers your question, if you please," He shoos them away. "Class is about to begin."

Before Miss Britford can return to her seat, halfway across the lecture room from hers, Brandi clamps a hand down on her shoulder. "So sorry," She purrs, not apologetic at all, "But I was just wondering, how did you know this?"

Despite the demand in her voice, Miss Britford does not turn, instead replying with her back facing Brandi. What disrespect. "What are you referring to?"

"You should _know _what I'm referring to, Miss-perfect-score. How did you know so much about the rules when you weren't even here to _learn _them?"

And the perfect student _finally _decides to grace Brandi with her presence, turning her head to look at her with what Brandi _knows _is contempt. "Simple. I took the liberty of borrowing every book needed to pass the final exam, and memorized everything single one of them."

**…..**

"_Every _single one?" Felicia's mouth falls open the second time that week, staring at Eve like she has grown another arm. Or set of eyes, which would be more relevant to the conversation. She shuffles forward a few steps as the reaper in front of her do the same.

Eve mimics the motion and says, "Yes."

"As in, _every _one?" The redhead is still unbelieving. Even in her stupor, though, she still has enough electricity in her brain to continue moving up the line, at least.

The raven-haired girl continues to answer the same way as before: curt and polite, though the twitch of her face indicates her patience is starting to wear thin. "Yes."

"In a week?" _Twitch._

"Yes."

"Did you get any sleep at all?" _Twitch twitch._

"No. What is sushi?" Eve pushes up her glasses again, slightly irritated by their tendency to slip so often, and mentally scolds herself for being sucked into yet another one-sided conversation. At the first chance, she changes the subject and brings up the cafeteria's questionable menu list.

Felicia mimes falling backwards in an overly dramatic fashion, legs kicking up and arms flailing like kraken tentacles, in mock horror. "La gasp!" She… gasps. "Don't tell me you don't know what sushi is!"

"There is no need to say I do not know what sushi is; my previous statement already implied it."

With a facepalm, Felicia then explains, "Sushi is basically raw fish wrapped in rice and seaweed. It's a Japanese food."

"What is Japanese?"

"A language. A culture." The pint-sized girl is growing steadily more enthusiastic as she digs deeper into what seems to be one of her most favored subjects to converse about, jumping up and down from the tips of her toes. "There's a country across the world from here named Japan, and has all sorts of things that are different from here, like food, clothes, and the language. There's stuff like sushi and teriyaki and rice which comes from the continent of Asia. We had this one Japanese reaper transfer here in some kind of program, it was called the Shinigami exchange program I think, and the things he brought over were super popular with the workers here, so they kept a lot of things the same even after the transfer left! Like the word sempai. It's a title that is given to someone who's been here longer than you."

"So you would be my sempai." Eve clarifies. Meanwhile, in the background, she can vaguely hear someone complaining behind her, but the words are lost in the general din and the redhead's exuberant response.

"Yup! And the opposite of the word would be kouhai, so you're my kouhai!" Felicia pats Eve's shoulder, having to reach given the difference of height. She is at the front of the line now, but stops short of ordering to keep talking to her 'kouhai' instead. "Grell's really into it; she talks about this one dude as 'Sebas-chan' and she's okay with you calling her sempai, too. And she's got these gorgeous red Chinese dresses too! But William-sempai doesn't like it, being called sempai, I mean, not wearing dresses, cuz the last time I tried he smacked me on the head and said 'you will refer to me as Mister Spears' and 'rah, rah, rah' so I only call him that when's he's not around. Oh, we're at the front on the line. One plate of salmon sushi please!"

The girl at last breaks off her long train of conversation to place her order. After being handed a plate covered in pieces of salmon wrapped in rings of white and green, she pops one into her often-open mouth and chew with relish, licking her lips afterwards. "Anyways, see you in the classroom if you don't decide to eat here." She waves goodbye to the other girl, now in the front, as she prances out the exit door. "And you should totally try the sushi, it's great!"

"Uh huh." Eve answers dejectedly, before dropping her money onto the counter. "Lamb stew, please."

She is given not five minutes alone with her food, however, plopped into a seat at an empty part of the room, when her meal is interrupted by a violent tremor vibrating through the vicinity. Eve ignores it at first, but the disruption is reinforced by an angry male voice barking "Hey! You in the seat! I'm talking to you!" along with another slam on the table.

Leaning heavily on said table is a stocky, red-faced boy with flaming red hair and a temper to match. The man is not a trainee, but from his temperament, the girl can tell that he is not the most senior of death gods either. He is snarling with malice, "Do you realize how long you and your shorty friend took at the beginning of the line?"

Eve looks up, pushing up her lime-tinted glasses. "No."

"Well, it took a damn long time! And I am _not _in the mood for another inconvenience."

"Then perhaps you would do well to come to the line earlier."

"Yeah? Well maybe _you're _the rookie who should give more respect to her elders! Maybe _you're _the one who should let people pass when they're-"

"What do you want?"

"What?"

"What. Do you want. From taking the trouble to approach me?" The girl is becoming impatient, and goes straight to the point, wanting to get the entire interaction over with. It is clear that the person she is talking to is one of the arrogent kinds of people that let their title do all of their talking. (Eve feels disapointed: She hopes not everyone she meets in this association is not so... exaggerated.)"My money? My food? A sarcastic apology for your own faults?"

"That's a good idea, actually." The man pushes himself up and leers at Eve, now very cocky in the same way the first demon she had met acted. "Hand over all you've got, and _maybe _I won't go reporting this and getting your ass mangled on the side. Maybe."

In answer, Eve deliberately raises her soup-filled spoon in her lips, still steaming, and sips from the edge of the utensil. She performs this action twice more, gazing down at her food rather than at the corrupted hulk of a man standing before her.

Then it is her turn to abruptly hit the table, as she basically jumps up from her chair, staring sternly at the man…

Until she scoops her bowl into the crook of her arm and bolts out of there.

"He- Hey! Get back here! I'm not done with you yet!" The angry dude tries getting through the crowd, but Eve effectively shakes him off by jumping off of several chairs, tables, and even over a few peoples' heads, and vanishing from sight.

A moment her feet touch the hall floor, Eve comes to a full stop and alters her pace from lightning fast to a leisurely walk. The only disturbance she encounters until she makes her way back to the Reaper-in-training classroom is the mean snickering coming from Brandi, who happens to be leaning nonchalantly against a wall of the empty hallway right outside the glass doors of the cafeteria. "Do you always run away like that in a fight? Good to know." Her words are vaguely innocent on the surface, but the cruel smile on the blonde's face seem to betray a deeper meaning to the incident itself.

"…" Eve gives her but a glance before turning away. "Think what you want."

**…..**

"Hey! Hey! Hey Miss Britford! Kouhai! Whatcha doing?" Felicia is bouncing like hyperactive dog alongside Eve as she is strolling down the hall, jumping up to meet with her eye level before falling again. Up, and down, and up, and down, she seems persistent in following the taller girl.

Eve pauses to look at her. "Walking. What does it look like?"

"To wheeeere?"

"The library."

"Oh, you're meeting your new boyfriend?" Comes the teasing question.

The only response is the straightening of glasses and the calm words, "Mr. Knox is not my boyfriend. I am to see him after class, which is now."

"Then I'm tagging along!" Felicia declares, a look of smug satisfaction settled on her doll-featured face, as she clasps her hands behind her back and ceases her bounding, walking alongside Eve. "I heard he's pretty cute."

"And who gave you that opinion?"

"Brandi." The redhead chirps. "We girls have to stick together, you know; there's not many us in the Reaping Department itself, so we gotta stay close. And besides, I heard it's easier to get in a group date."

"Suit yourself."

**…..**

"Um… where is he?"

The two are standing just beyond the upper library threshold, staring inside.

There is no one there.

_Literally, _there is no one there. The food-chewing clerk that had been seated with his feet on the desk all of the time has apparently vanished. Any reapers, in training or not, are no longer milling about or poring over a book to even talking to each other curled up in any of the couches.

"Uh." Felicia looks around. "Maybe they're closed?"

"The fact that I had to pick the lock to the doors may have been a big hint." Eve says a little in dismay. Raking her eyes along the walls, she remarks, "He may be in one of the study rooms."

"Okay." Flitting from door to door, the Lolita-dressed girl tugs on the knobs one after the other. After five empty rooms, the last door is opened and Felicia pops inside, followed by Eve.

Ronald Knox is inside. He is also without his blazer, tie, and indeed, anything on his upper body save for his watch, and is currently hanging by a belt loop at the back of his pants off of a hook on a small, low-hanging chandelier hanging from the ceiling. He rotates just slightly in a circular motion, while Brandi, who, for some reason is in the room with him, is caressing his face lightly with her perfectly manicured hands and puckering her lips as if to kiss the man.

"…hi." He says awkwardly after many awkward seconds pass the four of them by in an awkward manner, as he shifts his weight and sways just a bit as if pushed by an awkward non-existent wind. "…'sup?"

Eve snaps her head to the side, not wanting to look, and just mutters something under her breath that sounds like "I don't. Even. _Want._ To know...", but poor Felicia ends up suffering a massive nosebleed and falling backwards onto her bottom, trying hard not to stare but unable to tear her eyes away. "What the- fff- I don't- I don't even- what- what- what are you doing?" She splutters through a fountain of blood.

"Funny story about that actually," Ronald says with half-hearted chuckling that does nothing to signify that he actually finds anything about the situation amusing, as he continues rotating. Awkwardly. "It basically was, well, I didn't know that library closed early for cleaning, Miss La Fenza here offered to let me in, it turned out to be a trap, and now I'm hanging from a chandelier! And about that, Miss Britford, can you please get me down? Please? The crazy chick took my knives."

"Why? I see no reason to help you." Eve refuses in a very passive-aggressive fashion, still looking away from the whole debacle. "You were the one foolish to fall for… this." She waves her hand in Ronald's general direction.

"Pleeeeaaaaassese! I'm begging and everything here!"

"Wait, are you ignoring me again?" Brandi pipes up shrilly.

"No, and yes."

"What! Why?" This time, only Ronald asks this.

"Well, don't know your opinion on the subject of the matter," The girl, for the briefest moment, looks straight at the man suspended half-clothed. "BUT I DON'T LIKE STARING AT NAKED TORSOS."

More awkwardness follows, in which what the raven-haired girl had said sinks into everyone's brains, Eve jerks as if to shudder and looks away again, Felicia's nosebleed intensifies as she faints and falls over backwards, and Brandi stomps off of the chair she was standing on with her five inch high heeled dress shoes and starts to say something until Ronald reaches to cover a hand over her mouth and keeps talking.

"Then get me down and I can put my shirt on."

"Put your shirt on first."

"I can't reach it from here!"

"Is _everybody ig-_"

"Yes."

"Oh come on!"

"What do you have to offer?"

"What?"

"What do I gain from this?"

Ronald flails a bit and swings dangerously. "Ah… your room key?" He thinks up.

"…I will accept that."

"Now wait just a- Eeeerk!" Brandi flounces up indignantly and keeps trying to say something, but decides against it in favor of ducking out of the way of the knife that is soaring in her direction.

However, her actions are redundant, as the weapon simply flies over where her shoulder had been and severs the thin band of fabric that is holding Ronald attached to the ceiling decoration. Finally freed from his hilarious bonds, the man falls rather inelegantly, but at least lands on all fours.

"There." The girl who had launched the knife is glaring now, having been forced, as she put it, 'to stare at a naked torso' for more than a second. With the flick of a wrist, the nearly invisible wire tied to the knife pulls it out of the wall and back to Eve. She lets her hand fall from its tense upright position and adjusts her glasses again. "Now put your shirt back on. Please."

Ronald does not need to be told twice, and immediately looks for his clothes. Boy, if the ladies from General Affairs ever find out about this...

"Just. Wait. _A moment!_" The blonde girl snaps this time, clenching her fists. "I have a bone to pick with you!"

"Ah… perhaps while I am here I should read more about those machines in the glasses department…" Having lost interest in the entire conversation, Eve, instead of responding to Brandi, has now started sifting through books that are sitting in a shelf. Ronald stifles a snicker.

"Pay attention when I'm talking to you, will you!"

"We have nothing to discuss." Eve says in a monotone response. "Mister Knox, my room key, please."

While Ronald puts on his clothing, since he is rather uncomfortable standing shirtless in front of strangers in public, even given his ladies-man reputation, Brandi still stands tall and crosses her arms over her chest, standing in between him and Eve. "We _do _have something to discuss. How could _you, _some newbie that burst into this place out of nowhere, get higher marks than _me, _who didn't even try but received the top marks in the preliminaries?"

"Because you are an idiot."

A pair of green and yellow ringed eyes widen in anger, only to narrow in fury. "_What?_"

"You said your success was owed to natural talent, did you not?" Though Eve is behaving the same as always, there is rising tension in the room that Ronald cannot help but notice. Not really wanting to get caught in a catfight, and did he mention yet that Brandi kind of creeps her out with her I-must-be-perfect attitude, he quietly hides behind a desk and keeps redressing. Meanwhile, Eve makes way with her insult-fest. (Does she even know she is doing it?) "Pure talent alone is never enough to succeed at anything. At one point or another, your carelessness will cause you to slip farther behind as the combination of any talent your competitors have and their own work ethic will ultimately beat you again and again. You want to be truly great at something? Then work at it."

"But you-"

"I do have a natural ability to memorize the written word, yes, but I still would not have reached my current level of skill in anything if I had lived the same way you did. At the moment, most likely I am better than you in every way. It does not matter to me anyways, since I have never thought highly of you to begin with. The only reason I am telling you this now is that you will become a nuisance to me otherwise. At least with this knowledge you have a chance to improve yourself."

Before Ronald knows it, Brandi is shaking as she bubbled over with anger until she foams over. With three quick-paced strides she raises her hand to slap Eve across the face, but even as her hand arcs down, the other girl catches it with no visible effort, her fingers tightening into a vice-like grip.

"Let go!" The blonde thrashes her wrist about, or at least tries to, but Eve's hand does not budge.

The fingers keep tightening. "I have not had sleep for an entire week." As she squeezes still harder, the raven-haired girl's cold demeanor betrays an uncaring recklessness. "So forgive me if I am not in the mood to trifle with you."

The limb is gaining a pallor of darker red now, and at this point Ronald thinks it is time to intervene. Taking hold of Eve's own wrist, he tugs on it gently, pressing the key he had managed to find in his blazer into her hand and saying "Hey." And it is enough to catch the girl's attention and get her to let go. "Don't forget you room key. And, by the way," He tells her, now using his own hold on Eve's arm as leverage to lean over and whisper in her ear. "For your information, you're gonna want to tone it down in the future. Acting like that gets you overtime, and trust me, you wouldn't like it."

Though he gets no kind response, the girl at least backs down and closes her eyes. "Noted. It that is it," She remarks, pulling away abruptly from Ronald, "then I will go now."

"Uhhhheehhhhuhhhh- huh? Where are you going?" Having somewhat recovered from bleeding profusely from her nose, Felicia sits up from her stupor just in time to see Eve leave.

"Out of here."

Looking a little sad, Felicia just waves. "Okay. Bye, then."

"Little freak." Brandi hisses from nowhere, clutching her wrist.

Considering what the other blonde had just tried to pull off, Ronald cannot really feel any sympathy for her. "She's a little strange, I'll give her that." He states, back in his easy-going manner now that he is not half naked anymore, "But you should probably know people aren't really appreciative about being strung up to the ceiling and forced on by anyone no matter how good-looking they are. Welp! I'm done here, and I've got a party to go to, so see ya!"

And with a few backward steps and a point and wink directed at Felicia, Ronald runs out of the library.

"Ehhh? Ronald-sempai! Waaaaaiiit! I wanna ask you stuff!" The redhead soon goes after him in pursuit, leaving Brandi furious and alone.

**...**

_No good little... nnnhhhhghghrah!_

Brandi tugs as her pigtails in frustration. _This is infuriating! That girl just waltzes in and tells me what I'm doing is wrong like she actually knows! Who is she to judge me?_

She sits there, alone, having long been abandoned inside that library by the others. While they had left, however, she had stayed behind.

An angry sigh rushes out of her lips as she reaches for another textbook ("The Death God Rulebook Volume XI") and opens it to rest on one of her legs, crossed over the other. _Fuck, but she has a point, as much as I hate it. _The blonde acknowledges begrudgingly. _This isn't kiddie school anymore, _she says to herself, poring over word after word on the parchment in front of her. _And if I'm going to go back onto the top, _and stay there_, all the stops are going out._

Feeling her old confidence flowing back, she smirks, the right corner of her ruby-colored lips reaching upward. "Watch out, _Miss Britford._" She breathes, bringing the book closer still under her scrutiny. "You just got yourself a rival. And this one's not going down without a fight."

So sunken deep into her resolve she is, that Brandi does not see the shadows behind her melt and twist into something wicked.

And when she turns around it is far too late to save her.

**...**

Whenever Eve visits Undertaker, he always, always, _always _has tea and cookies to offer. It is almost uncanny how he has a constant supply of them. Yes, she is well aware that he makes said bone biscuits herself, (a little _too _aware for her liking, actually... no, _way. Too. Aware._) and yes, there are plenty of places in Britain that sell the kind of tea that Undertaker usually drinks that he had once explained to her is named Earl Grey, but still, the girl has trouble fathoming how the mortician can have a constant supply of his treats the entire time.

For instance, at the moment it is the middle of the night in London, every building is dark and their inhabitants are asleep, save for the funeral parlour, of course, but Undertaker still has steaming Earl Grey tea to offer Eve, along with his bone shaped cookies. It is uncanny, but then again, there is no other way to describe him.

"Here you are, my lady." The man in question purrs as Eve takes the beaker from his hands with a quiet word of thanks, before leaning back to seat himself on a coffin opposite the girl. "Now what's the purpose of this visit, may I ask?"

The beaker is halfway to Eve's lips before it pauses. She searches for an answer, but ultimately finds herself not having one at all. "I don't know." The girl says a little dumbfounded, as if caught off guard by the fact that, for once, she has no explanation for her actions. "I just wanted to get that apartment, I think."

"Your new place to stay isn't all to your liking, then?" Like a bat, Undertaker's robes of grey and... Even darker grey let him melt halfway into the darkness that is not fended off by the feeble candlelight. "And I thought you'd be glad to be out of my debt."

"It's true I do not like owing people anything, yes," Eve reminds him, "but I still haven't completely paid my due."

"Thank you for reminding me, my dear~"

With the realization that Undertaker had just tricked her into revealing she was still in debt, when he had apparently forgotten, Eve stiffens and just drinks her tea at an even quicker pace, to the amusement of the mortician. (The sugar in it will likely keep her awake even longer, but at this point she is beyond caring; most likely the girl will not get a wink of sleep tonight, either.) She mutters into the glass. "That aside... I think I still prefer being here than there."

"So you _do _appreciate my company! I'm flattered."

"I never said that. I just dislike that place." Eve retorts with a huff. "In fact, I rather hate it."

"How so?" Ah, the questions Undertaker asks her. There are so damn many of them.

"The _people._" The girl cringes in an effort not to shiver, gritting her teeth. "There's too many of them. It's suffocating, they are too loud, and I hate having to be surrounded by all of that."

She exhales her pent up breath in a sigh that pushes away the vapor of her tea. "I just feel more at ease here. The less company, the better."

Undertaker rests an arm between his right knee and cheek and tilts his head at Eve with a stare that would unsettle her if she could not see his eyes anyways. "That's an odd motion." He remarks ironically. "Humans and reapers alike are naturally sociable creatures. Not many of them will choose a funeral parlour with only the dead to talk to over a nice bed with plenty of others to talk to."

"You're one to talk. Isn't that what you do all the time? Besides," Eve scoffs and plucks a cookie out of the urn standing between the two. "You are here, are you not? And I only need one person to keep me sane."

"You could spend the night with any of your other friends."

"You talk as if I actually have any. I do not know anyone else but you. As far as even close acquaintances go, you are the only one I have."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"So did you come here for a coffin fitting-"

"_Ending the conversation NOW._"

"Then why _did_ you come here?" Chuckles begin to bubble underneath his Cheshire grin. "You still haven't told me. And you always do something for good reason, especially if it costs you such a dear price."

"Guh." Eve groans, puts down her tea, and, defeated, flops backwards to bang her head on the wood surface beneath her. "I sleep better on your coffins." She confesses, closing her eyes. "Maybe that is why. No, that is exactly why. So there. You know."

A small laugh rings out. "Then take your pick of coffins and stay here for the night." Undertaker offers. "I'll just add it to your tab."

"Thank you."

"..."

"..."

"Are you _sure-_"

"_YES._" All of the candles are snuffed out simultaneously.

"Bwaahahaha..."

"You must be having a fantastic time with me here." The voice coming out of the darkness holds just a slight bit of sarcasm.

"You _are _quite amusing, yes." A chuckle follows this.

"I am not the amusing one. My misery is."

"Well then, it's _schadenfreude!_"

"I do not know the meaning of that word."

"It means, 'pleasure derived from the misery of others', my lady, something I must praise you are quite adept at producing."

"Tch. Well, if it gives me a decent place to sleep for the night, I can bear with being laughed at for being overly agitated and depressed."

"I'm so glad you enjoy sleeping in my coffins so much."

"I am not sleeping in any of them. I am sleeping on the lid."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"I do not intend to be sat on again."

"Kukeke! I assure, it was only one incident."

"Whereupon you _sat _on me."

"Correction. I sat on a _coffin._"

"After you shoved me _into _it. For no particular reason."

"But the lining was soft, was it not? Surely you can't resist-"

"I can resist things just fine. How did we start talking about this drivel anyways?"

"I asked if you wanted a coffin fitting."

"...right."

"..."

"..."

"..."

_Who am I trying to fool? I am not getting any sleep tonight._

* * *

**Man, I just don't like this chapter. Too many cliches. But it is mainly from Eve's point of view and she is the boring serious person in the lot, so I guess maybe it makes sense that flamboyant characters like Grell and Felicia aren't her thing? I... IDK.**

**Early update this time too because I'll be on a plane tomorrow. Hope you enjoyed.**

**P.S. Many thanks to those who have followed/favorited this story!**


	5. That One Subsitute

**I very nearly forgot to post this. 8I**

**Anyways, this is the very, VERY last chapter of boring bantering and introduction before we get to the exciting stuff. The plot kicks up from here, thank goodness. I have to think of a way to pace the plot out well.**

**Just a warning, but school has started up for me and it's a lot more than I thought it would be, so next chapter might it be on time. I've used up my buffer, and I think it's cuz my chapters are too long. I might shorten them,,,**

* * *

"Get off of me! Get off! Don't you fucking touch me!"

Brandi La Fenza is backed against the east library door, scrambling to evade the reach of several people trying to coax her out of her panic induced craze. Disheveled and incoherent to the words of anyone around her, she is defending herself with haphazard swings of her training scythe as she scrambles backwards constantly.

"Just calm down miss." One of the reapers closest to her raises his hands is a sign of peace. "You need medical attention-"

"Stay away from me!" She snaps before he can finish. The man is right; a vicious bite mark is bleeding copiously on her left shoulder and spattering against the previously immaculate floor with red, and the hand Brandi is desperately clamping against the wound is doing nothing to stem the flow. Her other hand is wielding the scythe, and despite the small size of the weapon itself, the blonde's irradiate movements are enough to fend off everyone trying to come in contact with her.

William infiltrates the crowd and the majority of reapers around him, being the very trainees he happens to be instructing at the time, part like the red sea. "That will be quite enough." He declares, not only to Brandi, but to the thick crowd of people drawn in by the screaming and overall commotion. "Those of you due in lecture room 444, please go there immediately as we will not be able to start lessons without any students."

As the mass of people disperse to where they are supposed to be, two last reapers join the fro. _What is happening?_ Eve, having arrived only slightly early, watches the scenario with a detached expression.

"Isn't that...?" Ronald leans forward and squints one eye to get a better look at the crazy girl who is still yelling and ranting. "Brandi? It that her name?"

"So it is." Both of them know it is her. "For such a serious situation, you seem nonchalant. Why is that?"

"Well, if she's not dead yet, the trouble can't be that serious, can it?"

"Huh." Eve's eyes narrow to look over the entire blood-soaked portion of the room, and then at the girl currently screaming her head off. Apparently seeing something, however, the girl makes a choking noise before she can stop herself.

"Hmm? Is something that matter?" Ronald asks.

"No, it's nothing." The girl mumbles, before walking up to Brandi, and staring down at the slumped figure. "Well," She changes the subject, stretching her hands. "If we cannot begin lessons until this ends, I may as well take of her."

And so, completely disregarding the swinging scythe in the vicinity, Eve swoops down on the girl and takes out her own weapon, raising it and cracking it down, blunt end first, on Brandi's head. The blonde slumps over and the commotion dies down.

"Well that was instant." Ronald blinks, almost barely missing the moment, before shrugging and checking his wristwatch. "Suppose I should go then; my shift starting soon."

He does not stay long enough to see the last stragglers leave the library, or to watch Brandi be carried off to the infirmary, or to look at Eve grimacing with a scowl as she sees the mess of red spread all over the walls.

**…..**

The first thing Brandi asks for when she wakes up (and calms down, which takes much less time than before thanks to several sedatives that had been injected into her body) is a thick pile of books. It is not what she would usually request, that is for sure; another pillow for her delicate back, perhaps, or maybe a decent meal with not too much salt, but never a textbook. After all, she had used to think she had been smart enough without extra studying. Who needs it with an A average like her?

And yet, it is still the first thing on her mind when she sits up alone, bandaged, and aching all over in the infirmary. Is it because it had been the last thing on her mind before… _that happened, _or because she does not want the incident to happen? Or because she feels unsafe cannot think of anything else but to put up guards, and safety nets, around her in the form of knowledge?

Yes, probably. But she is not one to outright admit it.

So this is how she is right now, sitting up in bed, her nose practically pressed against the pages of "Advanced Writing Skills" as she pushes up those stupid old hand-me –down glasses and looks through every word with intense concentration.

She is so diligent in fact, that she does not notice when someone somehow magically materialized in a chair beside her bed. (And that is most likely the _only _reason.)

"I have to apologize for what I said earlier. It seems I was wrong about you."

Brandi snaps her book down and her head to the side and sees Eve is sitting right next to her. "You have quite a drive to improve after all. If you truly were the kind of person I thought you were, you would be wallowing in depression and self-pity right now." The creepy girl is not even turning her head to look at her; she is just peering at Brandi through her peripheral vision. The _nerve._

Once she gets over the initial shock of, holy shit, some weirdo who had attacked her before had just materialized by her bedside, the blonde's trademark glare of contempt returns to her features. "What are _you _doing here?" Her tone is incredibly untrusting and nasty as her eyelids narrow in suspicion, because the fact that Eve is just _sitting _there, as if sneaking up beside an almost stranger is the most normal thing to do in the world, is too. Creepy. Seriously.

"Paying you a visit, of course." Eve still seems to refuse to look at Brandi but stares straight ahead. She bends her head down and pushes up her oddly tinted glasses and keeps talking, completely, or perhaps seemingly, oblivious to that other girl's hostility. "The theory is that you have been attacked by a demon, and there are plenty of people worrying about how one could have infiltrated the association. Because we were the last ones to see you, Mr. Knox, Miss Rorn, and I have already been asked questions. They are opening a case to investigate. Almost the entire class is very concerned for you, Miss La Fenza."

"... so are you here to grace me with your presence and shower me with your pity?" Brandi spits out. "Because if it is, you can-"

"You seem to be assuming that I actually have _sympathy _for you." Eve interrupts. "But I assure you, I have no such thing, and if I did, I would not waste it on you. I came to interrogate you."

Brandi shakes her head slowly in confusion."..._Why?_" _What the fuck is she blathering on about?_

"I need to confirm something." Comes the vague answer. "About the thing that attacked you."

Not exactly wanting to relive the past twelve hours, Brandi threatens, "And what if I refuse-"

"Well, if you do, than I can always cut you and view your cinematic record." Eve interrupts like she seems to be doing so _a lot, _but instead of becoming indignant, Brandi is more concerned about the training scythe the freak is now fingering. "But that would lead to scarring trauma for you and some rather awkward questions for me, so I suggest you cooperate."

With a wince and a growl, it occurs to the green-eyed girl how ruthless the other female is. "What do you want to know?" Her voice is low.

"How many people attacked you last night?"

"Just one."

"Did he overpower you easily?"

"Well, it's not like he gave me any bloody time to fight back." This answer comes in a scoff. "Would have been a different story if I had my hand on my scythe... wait, how did you know it was a guy?"

"What did he look like?" The other girl ignores Brandi's question, and keeps going. Said patient growls and bristles, but wanting to get the entire unpleasant encounter over with, she decides to simply give Eve what she wants.

"Red jacket, red hair. I didn't see his face."

"And he simply bit you?"

"Well, _duh._" Brandi scoffs, tugging the edge of her hospital gown to reveal the freshly changed bandages looped around her neck and shoulders. "No, he knocked me unconscious with a baseball bat!"

"Like a vampire?"

"...what?"

"Like a vampire." The red-streaked girl repeats. A heavy feeling soaks into the atmosphere, weighing it down on Brandi's shoulders and infecting her mind with a feeling of familiar nausea and fear. "Sucking your blood out until you fade away. Pinning you down and never letting you go. Taunting you for every weakness you had, every reason you couldn't get away from him-"

"_What are you?_" Hands shaking, and eyes widened with a slightly crazed glint, the blonde reaches out and grasps the other girl's shoulder. What the fuck is this girl doing, guessing her every thought? Who is she to read her mind like some textbook?! "_What _are _you?_"

"..." For a moment, Eve moves as if to leave, but at the last moment, leans back and makes a decision to answer. "Rather a bit like you." She responds curiously, and for a brief amount of time, their eyes meet and Brandi does not know what to feel.

The blonde's hand is shaken away and Eve leaves and the door swings shut behind her.

The moment Brandi thinks that she is out of earshot, her haughtiness and contempt seem to flow back, but less definite and solid feeling as before. "Whatever. Just leave me alone." She scoffs dismissively to return to her book. However, at remembering something the raven-haired girl had said earlier, she slaps it down on her lap to exclaim. "Wait a minute! You-" Before stopping short: she is only looking back to empty air. With mutters of "Freak, just a freak..." She gives up on the matter and returns to reading.

**...**

Eve leans against the closed door and mulls over the change she had just seen in the girl. _I think I just saw someone become a bit like me. _She acknowledges and she walks down the hall out of sight. _I wonder what will happen to her._

Like it is used to doing, her train of thought takes an abrupt turn and shifts to the more urgent matter on hand. Her manner of walking becomes more fast-paced, more restless and urgent, as she thinks, _so... what she saw confirms my suspicions._

_He is dead._

_No, he is _supposed _to be dead._

_But still..._

_The man in red. _A vision of a figure half-obscured in shadows and half-robed in crimson red occurs to her.

_The wound itself. _She thinks back to the bandages over Brandi's neck, and the bite wound.

_And then the brand painted in blood. _The design of intertwining crescent moons had been drawn as clear as day on the library wall.

_It is him. _She concludes. _Eros Ashworth._

_...Fuck._

_And I was so sure I had killed him._

**...**

"Mister Spears, I would like to talk to you."

William is about to leave the lecture room, being almost done with his shift, when he is interrupted by one last curious student wanting answers. Glancing at the clock, he looks back to Eve. "Since it is still twenty-five minutes to five-thirty, you may, but I suggest you speak quickly."

The girl avoids eye contact with her superior to gaze out of the nearby window. "There will be an investigation of the attack on Miss Brandi La Fenza, will there not?"

"Yes."

"But no one who is not involved with the investigation is allowed to pry into the matter, are they?"

"That is correct." The opening to this conversation seems to be more out of formality than to actually satisfy the student's curiosity; as a triple A student, Eve should be more than familiar with details about special investigations. Such as the fact that William himself manages them...

"Then I would like to be a part of the investigation."

"Absolutely not." William shoots down the request without a trace of hesitation. "No trainee is near ready enough partake in an investigation of this nature."

"Is it possible for me to take all of the exams early?" The subject is now different yet still relevant. She is persistant.

"No."

There is a stagnant pause in the conversation as Eve tilts her head with a slight frown. "Why not?"

William goes into lecture-mode as he straightens his glasses with his death scythe. "If we were not so understaffed, each student would be given a private mentor with which they would be able to learn the curriculum at their own pace. However, as this is not the case, the branch has resorted to grouping larger numbers of students with only one or two instructors. We simply do not have the resources to make an early assessment possible; any reaper that has enough experience to do such a thing will most likely already has other duties."

"What if I find someone who can?"

"While I doubt anyone will agree work overtime, if you succeed in doing so, then yes, the proper paperwork can be filled out to allow you to take an early final exam."

"And I take it that asking you to mentor me will not be of any use?"

There is a flash of light reflecting on the lenses of glasses. "I am afraid not. I already have overtime as it is."

"I see. Thank you." Eve bows and leaves with no other sounds.

**...**

_A mentor, is it? _As she taps her feet while traversing down the halls, Eve shuffles through her options in her head. _I do not know many people here, so the best thing to do is ask people I already know... which is not many people._

_All of the other trainees are unlikely to know any options, but perhaps I can ask some of them tomorrow._

_William cannot do it._

_Grell is- ughghg. _She shudders. _Out of the question. Definitely._

_So that leaves- hmm? _While mindlessly making her to the library, the girl catches herself with her hands opening the doors to the wrong one she had intended. _I went two floors too far down. _She realizes, looking inside the crack to see the collection of cinematic records stored behind the doors. _Oh. I should go back, then._

And yet, even as she starts to pull the handles back together, something catches the girl's eye that makes them widen as she flings the doors wide open.

_No. _She gapes. _No way. No way in blazing-_

Taking a running leap in the thing's direction, Eve crosses the room in one jump, and stares and stares and stares.

_How in hell-_

It is inevitably him; there is no doubt about it. Absolutely none.

_Is that Undertaker?!_

The answer to her question is yes, it is. Because standing tall and powerful in the center of her line of vision is a statue of a legendary grim reaper, the very spitting image, minus the hat and plus a pair of glasses and a scythe, of a mortician who now has a lot of questions to answer.

**...**

"Undertaker!" Eve roars indignantly as she practically kicks down the funeral home door, her foot still raised in a roundhouse kick by the time it is forced open. "Where are you?"

The mortician is, conveniently for him, nowhere in sight as the angry girl roots through every nook and cranny of the funeral home. He _is not_ in any of his usual spots: sitting atop his desk, crouched behind the door, perched on one of his coffins, and definitely not (and Eve checked several times on this,) hanging upside-down by the knees from the dusty chandelier fastened to the ceiling.

_So this leaves the insanity lurking behind the walls... _The girl deduces, coming to the conclusion with a rather unhappy look on her face. Given what had happened the last time she delved further into the funeral home beyond the front lobby, she is not too eager to do so again. _Or rather, behind that strange bookcase thing. _

_Sigh._

"Undertaker." She calls out, now what more jaded in tone than before. "Where aaaarrree you? Please do not tell me you are hiding on purpose. Please."

An eerie giggle that reverberates through the entire building is all the answer she needs.

_Siiiiiggggghhhhh._

"Under-ehhh?" Eve's next lament is cut short in favour of a very confused noise. And with good reason too, because she does _not _know what she is looking at

Well... first of all, she knows she is in a bathroom. The sink, bottles, (which are standing on the ever-present shelves and some with _every _room in the mortician's home) and tub standing smack in the middle of the room is testament enough to that. But it is what is _in the bathtub_ that really strikes her dumb. Not the bubbles, which, by the way, are freakishly large and _pink_ for bubbles, that are floating on the surface of what Eve hopes is water and not embalming fluid, but what is lurking amid them.

Curling like aged rivers among the pink froth is what looks like a mass of grey tentacles that lead to a... body of some sort. As the tub is quite spacious, and the limbs are winding to and fro in the water, whatever is in there must be huge.

"Undertaker?" Eve sticks her head out the doorpost, now sounding very worried. "There's a... kraken... thing. In your tub. Ah, are you aware it's in there, because you should-"

"Heellllloooo, my lady~!" She is interrupted when the man she is looking for rises like a swamp monster out of the tub His hair, which had been floating on the surface this entire time, thankfully covers most of him as he sits up, though this does little to stop Eve from seeing parts of his torso peeking out from the strands and thinking, _sweet heavens above, _no.

Some inhuman squawk of heart tearing, gut wrenching terror makes its way halfway out of Eve's mouth before she can find her bearings and falls backwards, scrambling to look away and clutch her chest as she back up against the door, gasping frantically. When she is sure she can talk again without breaking into hyperventilation, the startled girl whips her head and breathes "What are you _doing?_"

The mortician calmly answers with a chirp, as he plucks a soap-soaked sponge from beside him and drags it across an equally bubbly arm. "Why, taking a bath! What else does it look like?"

"You're naked!"

"As people usually are when they are bathing." Undertaker snickers. "Why so flustered, my lady?"

"You're _naked!_" After twitching copiously, Eve finds the strength in her legs to stand up and dust herself off. "Just- just- fine. I should not have come in here, and I'm sorry. I'll just- talk you after you finish."

"Not quite!"

She is stopped even as she turns around, and Eve winces like she had been stabbed in the eyes, which she may as well had been. Slowly, deliberately, she turns around and tries not to burst into tears. "Yes?"

"Before you go, be a dear and get that towel for me, won't you?" Undertaker makes a wading motion to 'swim' to the edge of the bathtub, and leans over it like he always leans over things. He waves his soapy hand, for once without the jade ring that is perpetually on its ring finger, at a fluffy pink (of _course _it would be pink,) towel draped over a basin.

Eve stares. "Get if yourself." She scoffs incredulously. " You don't need me to reach a _washcloth._"

"Alright then, I'll have to get it myself." Undertaker starts to get out of the tub.

"On second thought you don't have to do that!" Eve nearly shouts, realizing what the action means. "I'll get the washcloth! I'll get the damn cloth! Just- just _sit back down!_"

"Suit yourself." The mortician laughs, just a little evilly, and does exactly what she asks. The water sloshes dangerously against the boundaries of the bathtub, but Eve is not too concerned because at the very least it _covers _the man.

_Thank the Gods._

"Here." The girl grunts, roughly snatching the towel with one hand and shoving it into the mortician's direction, using her free arm to cover her eyes behind her sleeve. She wiggles the cloth expectantly in front of where Undertaker's face is supposed to be. "Hurry up and take it."

The man giggles maniacally, but for some reason does nothing else, and the sound of burbling is all Eve can hear.

"?" Peeking from the top of her sleeve, the girl looks in the tub's direction, wondering exactly what is taking him so long. She asks "What are you-"

As soon as the half-sentence leaves her mouth, Eve remembers what happened the _last _time she had asked such a thing, and immediately regrets even entering the room in the first place, because she _knows _something bad is about to happen, and that Undertaker had probably even planned it as well, and she is completely right, because before she can register it, two arms have grabbed her one and pulled her straight into the water.

It is _cold._ Colder than being stuck in a blizzard with nothing but a skimpy sexist outfit to keep you warm. Colder than being buried in a coffin of ice.

_Alright, given that ice is literally frozen water, that last comparison is not entirely accurate, _a corner of Eve's mind that is currently not screaming from the freezing temperature tells itself. _But I am quite sure that the poetic portion of my mind already quite understands it._

While this is happening, however, and Eve's brain is effectively shorted out, her body thrashes uncontrollably, like a giant shark caught in a net, until somehow she succeeds in flopping herself over of the basin edge and falling rather inelegantly onto the ground, where she makes a wet splat.

When she finally gets her bearings again, Eve coughs icy water up her throat, wipes the hair from the vast majority of her face and splutters "What. Was that _for?_" In a very indignant matter, as she gets up for the second time in five minutes, now soaking wet and miserable.

Undertaker does not answer immediately, because he is too busy guffawing and chortling and laughing his head off, which, in his bouts and glee, momentarily lapse under the now lowered surface of the water, causing burbles to periodically rise from the freezing depths. "Ah, the things I'll do for a laugh..." He sighs when he finally finishes, wiping tears, of maybe just water, from the corner of his eyes.

Eve groans internally and decided to write off the incident as Undertaker just being Undertaker. "That better count as payment."

"Of course, of course."

**...**

After apparently drying himself off with a spare towel and getting dressed, Undertaker strolls down the stairs through the bookcase-door, carefully adjusting the string of funeral lockets that are almost always strung to his side. The girl, who had trudged down the same way about twenty minutes before, pouts as she sits on a coffin with a fist under her chin as she grumbles darkly. (Eve had refused the mortician's help in getting a cloth to dry herself, and declared that she would rather stay soaking wet than put any kind of trust in him again. Somehow he doubts her resolve will stay strong for long; one can catch a nasty cold this way.)

"Well then, my lady." He chirps happily, scooping up and urn of cookies as he strolls towards the lady in question, eventually lifting himself onto his desk. "What was it you wanted to talk about, again?" To punctuate this, he spins the cookie container on a finger, balancing it rather skillfully.

Not amused in the slightest, Eve turns her head and glares up at him. "You were a legendary grim reaper before retiring and you never told me."

...well, the lady certainly knows how to get to the point, Undertaker can give her that. No, 'guess what I learned today', no frivolous way of convincing him to admit the fact himself, and certainly no easy way for him to get off track to distract her from the matter at hand. His smile only freezes the slightest amount. "So I was. I never said I wasn't~"

"_So,_" Eve sits up straighter and accentuates the casual word on her lips. "It means I can ask you for help."

"Is that so?" That is quite a feeble attempt of asking for aid if Undertaker ever heard one. He had gotten grown men on their knees begging for his information before, nobility and the scourge of the underworld itself, sometimes both, demanding his help. "But I hope you haven't forgotten you still owe me quite a bit. Surely one like you would clear your first debt before starting another one, no?"

"I have. In case you were not counting, and I know you weren't," Eve states. "That last one I paid when you so kindly decided I needed cooling off for no particular reason."

"Ah, but you seemed so stressed, I was only trying to help."

"Lies." Eve mutters. "You take every opportunity to bring me pains and you know it. And how did we get on this conversation again?"

"I don't know ~!"

"Right! Now back to the subject at hand!" Eve suddenly snaps, trying to get the conversation back on track as she slaps a fist onto an open hand, before pointing at Undertaker. "You were a legendary grim reaper before retiring and you never told me!"

Three dots seem to appear in the air one after another, between the two conversers, in an embarrassing, almost mocking manner.

The girl then realizes she had just repeated herself and her face starts reddening uncharacteristically as she buries her face into her palms with a sigh. Undertaker cannot help snicker; _this _is why he finds the girl so very amusing.

"But... ah, where was I... Right." Swaying ever so slightly, Eve mutters under her breath and tells Undertaker everything.

He does not particularly like what she is asking; he had left the dispatch with good reason, but for now, the mortician decides to humor the girl and give her a chance. "So, _that's _what you wanted to ask, eh?"

"_Yes, _like I didn't just finish explaining." Eve grumbles dejectedly. "Now will you do it or not?"

Undertaker strokes an imaginary beard is a wise fashion, putting on a show of considering the offer even though both of them know for sure what he is going to say next. "I'm not suuuuureee. Do you have the proper payment?"

**...**

_"Oh. My Gods." Felicia gushes as she cuddles a collection of photos and then proceeds to show them to everyone in the lecture room. "Look at this bunny. Just look at it. LOOK AT ITS CUTENESS. Isn't that the most adorable bunny you've ever seen? I got to sneak a few pictures last weekend on a trip to the country. Look! There's one with a bunch of babies! Awwwwww!" She even rushes over to William as well and shoves it into his stern, spectacle wearing face. "Look, Mister Spears! They're so cute!"_

_William takes one look at the fluffy little rabbits frolicking about and generally doing adorable things such as hopping and cuddling and an inhuman noise escapes his throat before he can stop it, sounding a bit like "Uhahghahinghmnn." (It seems even he is not immune to the cuteness or bunnies.)_

_The Lolita redhead continues doing this, flitting around between desks and being met with proclamations of "They look so fuzzy!" and "I love that one's eyes!" until she hears a growl emitted at her left. Looking in the direction of the hostile sound, Felicia comes face to face with Eve, whose stomach had rumbled, seemingly at the picture at the rabbits._

_One reaper looks at another as the sitting girl pauses from her lunch to cast her eyes on the redhead, a fork with a piece of meat impaled in its prongs hanging halfway to her wide open mouth. The meat looks suspiciously like a rabbit leg. "What?"_

_A look of absolute horror crosses Felicia's face and-_

**...**

"BWAHAAHAHAHAHA! HAHAHA!" Undertaker bursts into peals upon peals of laughter, while Eve buries her face into her hands again and wonders if she can drown in the water still dripping off of her fingers. Of course she cannot, but at least she can try. And fail. Miserably.

This must be why Undertaker finds her so amusing, she cannot help but acknowledge with a great deal of chagrin; of all people, Eve is not one who the least bit enjoys being made a fool of, or, in fact, having anything to do with fools in any case whatsoever.

"_So will you do it or _not?" The girl gasps, getting very exasperated now, gritting her teeth from behind her palms. Her face seems to be twitching, and her nose, for some reason, tingles unpleasantly.

"How- hah- can I not?" The mortician plops down beside Eve and thumps her on the back repeatedly for some reason and she coughs a bit. "You gave _veeerrry _sufficient payment, how could I possibly say no?"

In response, the girl looks up and says "Good. So tomorrow we'll go- ah- ACHOO!" ...only to sneeze and violently sprout hot-red crackling flames from her nose.

Both people stare. "The hell-" Eve mutters. She does not get to finish, however, because she is then interrupted by a barrage of sneezes. "Gah CHOO WHAT-"

"My my," Undertaker giggles much too mischievously to make anyone comfortable. "Has staying soaked like that gotten you a coooollldd?" He teases, stretching out certain words to further the humiliation. "How _sad. _You reeeeaaalllly should have let me get a towel when I offered."

From the cover of her hands, Eve glares narrowly at the mortician. "Actually, being probably being molested and being sick, I think I'll take the latter option."

At this, Undertaker feigns completely unconvincing indignation and prudency by throwing his heavily clothed arms, and lurching off the desk to saunter towards the girl. "Whaaaaaat? You take me capable of such unsavory things? I merely asked if you wanted to be handed a towel, my lady; there was no mention of inappropriate touching of the sort!"

Slowly, and with the caution of someone attempting to disarm a bomb, Eve lowers arm and stares hard at the funeral director. "You- you weren't-"

"I am quite sure," He declares, putting his hands on his knees and crouching down until he is at eye level with Eve, a feat that she herself is not sure he really accomplished given is eyes are _covered, _"That I never mentioned anything other than giving you a towel."

This statement is quickly followed by uncontrollable jerking on Eve's part and uncontrollable laughter on Undertaker's.

**...**

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE E!" A piercing squeal of excitement stabs through the generic din of the room, cracking windows and damaging the hearing of everyone in earshot, which, given the volume of the sound in question, is a great many number of deafened people and breaking panels of glass.

When she hears it, Brandi, who had fallen asleep at her desk not a few minutes before due to a lack of energy, startles awake and squawks inelegantly before smacking the floor with her face. The rest of the front of her body follows, hitting hard, and jarring recently healed wounds in a painful manner. "Arhghg. What the fuck!" She snaps, jolting upwards, now standing. Incredibly furious, she glares at Felicia, the redhead obviously the only one in the room even capable of uttering such a horrendous noise. (Unless Grell happens to be capable of it too; Brandi would not put it past the effeminate man, already able to reach notes he should not be allowed to. Ever.) There is a saying to let sleeping dogs lie, and the pigtailed blonde is self-admittedly one of the dogs you better let sleep, lest she wakes up grouchy and rips your throat out. As such, she grips Felicia by the upper arms and shakes the tinier girl vigorously, repeating with a feral growl, "What the fuck are you doing?! Goddamn noise you're making's gonna bring down the roof."

Felicia, still giddily half screaming, and now half laughing, does not take the shaking as a hint and instead grabs Brandi too and joins in the motion, increasing the rocking back and forth two fold. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" But she does not sound sorry at all, still sounding hysterically happy. "It's just that... did you hear the news?"

"Eh?" The shaking stops. Brandi stares down at the redhead dumbfounded. "What news." She is too tired to ask the question as if it were a question, and instead the sentence falls flat like Brandi had mere seconds earlier.

Beaming, Felicia's answer comes sounding extremely contented and bragging. "We're getting a lesson from a legendary Shinigami! William sempai convinced him, and he's gonna teach us a practical exercise!"

"Oi, have many times have I told you not to speak Japanese if you don't know the whole damn language?"

"You can't tell me what to do." The Lolita dressed girl turns away and pouts, puffing out her cheeks with air.

"Maybe," The girls get off track and start to banter about different subjects like they usually do... "But just _Grell-_"

"Just because I_ what~_?"

Until Grell pops into the conversation, leaning forward until he is holding eye contact with Brandi. They are probably around the same height, but thanks to the ridiculously high candy cane heels the transvestite wears, Grell manages to be considerably taller- and therefore more intimidating/irritating.

Without missing a beat, Brandi continues as usual. "Just because _you _butcher languages like you enjoy doing to everything else, doesn't mean it's a good idea to actually dooooo iitttt. Also apparently we're getting a substitute teacher."

"Oh, really?" Adopting a bored and jaded expression on his face, Grell duly ignores the insult against his habit of butchering languages like he enjoys doing to everything else and concentrates on the second, albeit less interesting point of the conversation. "I've had plenty of _those _in my time. No fun at all~!"

"Well, we are doing a practical lesson." Felicia pipes up.

Not one to be easily impressed, Grell cocks his hips haughtily and crosses his arms. "Hmmmph. Probably more desk work, as if I could stand any more. A lady like me needs some vigorous exercise to keep in shape! Alas, my cries of attention are being so readily ignored. Unless... who _is _this substitute?"

The shorter redhead opens her mouth to tell her idol, and by the sheer delight on Felicia's face, Brandi in one instant she realizes who it is and how Grell is going to react and dives to stop her saying "Fuck no no no-!" but she is too late and Felicia squeals and just before Grell launches into one of his many 'poetic' speeches about the beauty of something he obsesses over, usually his own appearance, the blonde can fit in one more swear.

"SON OF A-"

**...**

"Undertaker." Eve says. "What-"

She points to the entire group of people, which includes Undertaker, herself, the rest of her class and the two mentors of aforementioned class William and Grell, which is assembled in a thick crowd surrounding her and the, now that Undertaker can no longer deny it, legendary Shinigami.

"Exactly-"

Then she holds up the long, thin, strip of cloth that for some reason pinned to the upper hem of her pants, along with many others, creating some kind of multi-limb, strange, and absolutely useless tail.

"Is this? CHOO!"

And finally, before sneezing, thankfully without setting her sleeve alight, the girl gestures to the edge of the roof of which everyone is standing on.

Undertaker, in response, giggles in his usual, infuriating way, and states, behind his hand to hide the apparent secret from the rest of the class, which happens to be thronged around them, "It's your practical portion of your exam, of course! And because Willu~~~~ offered to waive my overdue library fines if I also volunteered to teach a class, I decided, why not kill two birds with one stone, hmm? Besides," He grins as if he is an avid hunter talking about setting hunting dogs on a rabbit, "It's more fun this way, don't you think?"

_This guy... _Eve thinks, her mouth hanging open a bit, _is really lazy, huh..._

"So you're not going to do anything but set us against each other and see you wins?"

"Exactly!"

"You do realize this is probably doesn't concede-"

But before the reaper trainee can finish her sentence with "with the rules", Undertaker clears his throat in a way where you know one is vying for a crowd's attention, and waves a spindly hand in the air, making the class fall deathly silent almost instantly. This is a first; even William, with his icy glare and imminent threat of stabbing one in the face, which is a menace even Grell will concede to eventually, although that should not be too much of a surprise, given the high-heeled redhead's vanity, had difficulty controlling the reapers in training at first.

However, and this is a very big 'however', when it comes to Undertaker, every student in the immediate radius around him seems more than happy to comply to his every whims. _(I wonder what would happen if he told them to jump off the roof...)_ It is probably his reputation as a prestigious reaper that keeps them in line, Eve decides to think.

"Today's lesson," The teacher-of-the-day starts, his silver-shining hair obstructing the view of his face as normal, which is just as well as he most likely has a horrifyingly mischievous glint in his expression at the moment, "is how to fight each other to the death."

Yes, it is most definitely only the reputation. "Now I'm not telling you to kill each other, far from that. Attached to each of you is a random number of strips of cloth. This is a representation of a dying human's cinematic record. The number of strips represents how strongly you cling to 'life'." His tone is surprisingly calm and ordinary sound, absent of all the sing-song tunes and creeping giggles that usually punctuate it. "Each of you will fight with your scythes in an attempt to harvest each other's records. You can travel across as many roofs as you like, but do be careful not to fall. Your injuries will hurt quite a bit, and I'm not quite used to treating... breathing things. Lose all of your reels, and you will join Willu and Miss Grell and I back at this roof here."

_So at the same time, we are the 'hunter' and the 'prey'. And the combination of jumping on the rooftops and the potential of being attacked by several people at a time can stimulate performing a real reaping in London. Maybe Undertaker is much more sensible than I give him credit for._

But the moment she even thinks this, Undertaker grabs her by the shoulders, digs his nails in so she cannot squirm free, and presents her to every person on the rooftop like a wallflower being shoved into the limelight. Which she is. "And by the way, whoever takes the last record from _her _will receive any wish they want granted!" He smile is pure evil.

_I take it back. He's a lunatic as usual._

Just as Eve frees herself from the sharp, iron grip, by having to pick off Undertaker's fingers one by one, as he seems rather adamant about letting her go, the worst thing possible happens, and Grell looks in her direction. "Waiiit." For the first time since actually starting to attend the class, the bi-hair colored reaper is almost recognized by the very man, for she refuses to call Grell a woman, who had earlier disemboweled her and attempted to murder her.

Thankfully, Undertaker takes this opportunity to declare the start of the competition, and Eve takes that as a chance to run to the nearest roof before everyone else makes the acknowledgement that their 'hunters' and 'prey' are right next to them.

* * *

**Annnnd that's it for now! Next month: ass kickery! SO MUCH ASS KICKERY.**

**And yes, I purposely kept Grell and Eve apart until now. Because otherwise if they met they would pretty much automatically start fighting, so I saved that for next chapter. Grell gets his ass kicked. Off a building.**

**It's gonna be _sweet_.**


	6. And the winner is

**Another month, another update, right on schedule, yup yup yup. I was hoping to keep my chapters at around a 6000 word average, but I'm afraid it's petering out to a mere 5000. Just as well; when I start merging the story with the canon storyline I'm limiting myself to a chapter per chapter, and they could get a lot shorter then. If so, maybe I'll increase updates to twice a month... It all depends, I guess, but I want to keep my updates consistent!**

**Also, because I'm bored ('because I'm bored' happens to be the number one reason why I do anything; the number two reason is 'I like tasty food') and I want to know whose been actually reading these author notes, I'm opening a mini Q and A for the characters. This includes canon and all original characters that appeared in MAGE or in DDD so far. Ask a question, the respective character will answer! Even if they're dead.**

**If there are too many questions (HAHAHAHAHAHA!AHAHAHAHAH!HAHAHAH- as if!) I'll pick the top ten I like and you'll see them answered next time.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

For a peaceful, almost serene, moment, the very beginning of the exercise commences with every student, with the exception of Eve, not really sure of what to do. Like deer in headlights, the majority of trainees look at each other, slightly confused, and taken aback at the suddenness of the potential chaos they had just been plunged into. One would think they had no idea of what to do. (Brandi, having yet to recover from her recent injuries, is standing to the side, with a begrudging expression what with her being barred from a chance to humiliate her rival, but still looks as though she may enjoy what she is about to see.)

Someone, a random reaper-in-training, suddenly realizes what to do, like a light bulb had been lit in his head, and rips the fake cinematic records from the back pockets of the person standing next to him, and the first person is taken out of the game.

Then all Hell breaks loose.

In the first thirty seconds, nearly a quarter of the class is defeated, the strips of cloth representing their link to life, their shield from death, torn from them by the grasping hands of another. They had all been standing in a tight groups and clichés just before this, a choice that many, especially the reapers in the center of the mass, now regret. They stay where they are; all trainees upon loss had been instructed to wait at the main building, after all.

Those who had been standing on the fringe now have an advantage. They run, legs carrying them past the edge of the first building and onto the roof of another. The distance between the skyscrapers is not too, but certainly large enough that those of too mundane a nature will have difficultly clearing such a breadth.

As if there are any humans here.

Even should one fall, Undertaker had been careful to take precautions, albeit no doubt after giving in to the pestering of one William T. Spears. Eve can see as she crosses over to the first adjacent building that there are nets fastened far above the ground, over an area of a few hundred square feet. She makes her way to the outside of the area; less people will be undaunted by the danger of falling, she knows, and the smaller the number of opponents she faces, the better chance she has of winning. (Not to mention there is a certain redhead that she finds in her best interest to stay out of sight of for the time being.)

Alas, the plan does not work as well as she wishes. Three boys, appearing to be in an alliance at the moment, start to come towards her, sprinting swiftly towards her with the intention to charge. Eve moves out of the way, to the left, intending to make her attackers collide as she takes their 'reels', but only two of them do this. The last one, the brunet in the middle, is a little smarter and stops short to lunge, take his trainer scythe and swing. The arc just misses Eve, and it comes just close enough that she can grab his arm (_the limited range of this weapon really doesn't do much for the attacker, does it?_) and pull it forward.

The girl takes her spoils and flits away. Eight down, she counts, twelve to go.

Felicia is taking advantage of her short stature and tripping others left and right, taking their records as she goes. Eleven, ten.

Another boy approaches Eve.

Eve prepares to fight.

The boy raises his scythe… and then swings it into thin air, using the momentum to perform a spinning kick in the air, before displaying punches and blocks in an overrated display of martial arts. A lunge and punch, two steps, a kick, a block, a second punch. Then he spins his weapon and flourishes it, accompanying it with a ridiculous war cry, his tensed in a perfect 'O'.

For a few seconds, Eve stands there and takes in her opponent's rashness. And stupidity.

Then she roundhouse kicks him in the face and takes his strips of cloth anyways.

Nine left.

Two boys gang up on another and takes his reels, but one of them is turned against and he also is taken out. Seven.

Felicia continues her rampage. "Over here, bitches!" She hollers, cackling with slight hysteria as she leaps out from behind a group of students huddled together in a surprise attack. Six, five, four are left. The redhead. seems to be having great fun with this. Almost too much.

Two others get into a brawl, pushing and shoving, and one leans too far over the edge of the roof. Though he falls, arms splaying and failing to catch anything to hold on to, into the safety of the net, it is enough to make a nearby mortician giggle surreptitiously into one of his baggy sleeves.

"By the way," he decides to add, "If you touch the net, you've lost."

There are three competitors left standing: Eve, Felicia, and another boy.

"What'd you know; it's me and you, kouhai!" The Lolita dressed girl gives an almost too-wide grin for her young face. "But don't think I'll go easy on you just cuz I'm your only friend!"

_You're not my friend. _Eve wastes a fraction of a second to think this and proceeds to dive to strike at the boy who had been standing between them and probably been about to say "I'm still here, you know..." before he had been forced to fling himself out of the way of Eve's swipe.

"H-Hey! Let me finish, won't you-"

"Irrelevant." Eve is not even aware of her saying this, but she is responding to Felicia's inane question, albeit with a sentence fragment.

"What- that doesn't even make sense?!"

By this time, Eve has kicked the last of the three survivors off the roof and turned towards the other girl. "Here's something that will make sense then." She points her trainer scythe, swiping through the air between the two of them. "I will not go easy either. Ever."

An almost delighted and definitely slightly hysteric grin stretches back on Felicia's face. "Now that's what I'm talking about! Now give me your best shot-"

WHAM.

Eve gives her the best shot she can. And what her best shot happens to be is a full on body tackle that sends the smaller, lighter, and much less stable body of Felicia's crashing into a wall.

"Ow!" The Lolita redhead picks herself off quickly only to be forced to dodge a mere millisecond later, as the dull but still damaging blade of a miniature reaping scythe makes a beeline for her backside.

Her opponent circles around her like a wolf circles its prey, snapping behind her and following as Felicia twists and turns. The steps to this curving dance slowly becomes more erratic and random, and the redhead starts to become dizzy and Eve swoops down on her again and again, intent on winning.

Eventually she succeeds, and Felicia finally falls, feeling far too fuzzy in her head to make much sense of anything. "Ohhhh..." She groans to no one but herself. "So you really are that strong, huh?"

"Hmmph." Eve collects the last of the reels, the only student still standing. It had been a rather anti-climatic end to a rather anti-climatic exercise- she had not found much trouble with anyone who had gone up against her at all. One more naive or hopeful than Evangeline Sonata Britford may think that after a lifetime of misfortune, one is getting off easy at last.

Unfortunately, this girl _is _one Evangeline Sonata Britford. She _knows _her luck does not last, she _knows _Undertaker's careful word choice when outlining the details of the game had not been without purpose, and she _knows, _absolutely _knows, _what is about to happen next.

Because the Gods forbid that Eve ever get off easy.

Trudging up to Undertaker, the aforementioned reaper-in-training drones, "Let me guess. This is the part where I assume I win. Then you laugh and say something like 'I'd never said anything like thaaaaaat', before noting that I'd never lost my records, so anyone who hasn't lost yet can still fight me, which includes you, Mister Spears, and Mister Sutcliff, correct?"

The mortician just chortles. "Catching on so fast, you never cease to amaze me."

_And this is the part, _Eve says the next bit of her tortured rant only to herself, _where Sutcliff recognizes me..._

_And I'm going to have to fight him._

Exactly as she thinks this, Grell snaps his fingers and his face lights up like a candle had been lit behind his eyes. "I remember now! You're the scrawny brat I left for dead a few months back! I wondered if you'd died of blood loss back there. Ah, good times~" He seems quite nostalgic.

"Wait, what's with all the hate here?" The red-drenched reaper, not Felicia, notices the tiniest shift in Eve's movement as she steps back into a different stance. A fighting stance.

Eve frowns, momentarily perplexed by the surprisingly nonchalant attitude of Grell. "You nearly killed me you act like it doesn't matter?"

"Oh you're still going on about that? Tch, you're _so _like William, always holding grudges. Don't you know we girls always need to stick together?"

Vaguely remembering these words being echoed from Felicia's mouth, and how the young girl had always seemed to have some kind of adoration for the killer standing in front of her, Eve tenses, bristling, and waits for Hell to break loose.

It breaks, alright. "But you're right, Undie _did _say there's a wish fulfilled on the line... so just this once, I think I'll _forget that!_" Grell's words rise in pitch at the very end of his sentence, and in volume, as he suddenly leans forwards and lunges. Much to the surprise and mild horror of the majority of the watching class, Grell summons his own scythe and lunges.

He still has his scissors.

This very important fact gives Eve a very, very important edge. For though Grell does currently posses a legitimate reaping scythe, it is still a pair of scissors, and therefore not much better or more useful than the tiny curved blade and handle Eve is using. She may actually have a chance to beat Grell Sutcliff's face into the ground, which even she must admit would be at least slightly satisfying, as apathetic as she is in regards to everything around her, without risking injuring herself. Despite this, Eve stays on guard, perfect aware of how deadly an opponent Grell can be.

If Grell's line of movement can be described as one that drives relentlessly towards its target, in a straightforward motion stretching directly between him and Eve, than her line of movement is a series of twisting arcs and turns, never reaching a specific place in one movement, never touching anything, although it circles around and just barely drifts from the reach of Grell's line the entire time.

The onlookers can almost see these lines; the glint of sunlight off of Eve's trainer scythe, and Grell's scissors, flash dots of brightness in streaks and curves that just barely resemble these paths that their wielders took.

Speaking of onlookers, Brandi and Felicia manage to have quite an endearing conversation as they watch the battle ensue.

"Damn... she's good at fighting too?"

"Well, yeah, you can tell that by looking. Why are you so worked up about it?"

"Because she's good at everything! She's ridiculously good at everything! Ethics! Writing! And now practical stuff too?! Gods dammit if it weren't for these bandages I'd give her a piece of my mind."

"Really? I'm pretty sure she'd beat you up."

"Wh- no she wouldn't!"

"Nah, I'm pretty sure she'd beat you up. Look at her go! That kick and spin looked awesome! Oh, close one there, but she just missed. I almost don't know who to cheer for- but Grell-sempai is always my number one favourite!"

"Suuuurrreee."

"Ohhhh, I bet you're jealous, tee hee."

"...I'm not going to dignify you with a response."

"Admit it! You're jealous of the cold perfectionist girl that constantly rivals and beats you at everything! It happens so often in comics it's practically an archetype!"

"No! I refuse you believe that!"

"Hahahaha, you're jeeaaaalloouuuus~!"

"What... what the fuck?!"

"What?"

"That... that... that '~' thing! What the bloody Hell was that?!"

"I dunno. I don't think we should be talking about this kind of thing. It makes me feel weird. Hey, look out out!"

"What are you- AWK!" At this point of the conversation, Brandi looks in the direction that Felicia had been pointing in to just barely see and duck Eve, who had been thrown in her direction.

The reaper in question digs in her feet and grinds to a halt not three feet from slamming into the nearest wall. "Ugh. Let my guard down." She mumbles to herself as she brings her free hand up and adjusts her glasses. Her eyes dart upwards to see Grell, who is currently attempting to corner her with, Eve has to admit, a tentative success.

"So sweet of you to hand yourself to me on a platter, darling." The bloodthirsty reaper says as he stalks like a cat around the mass of people comprised of students, an instructor, and one laughing mortician, the only thing between him and Eve, his 'prey'. "But this is the end of the road!" His stalking becomes prowling, then hunting, then full on sprinting as he lunges, hands outstretched and scissors at the ready to cut Eve's 'life force'.

Eve is presented with two choices: face Grell or jump off the roof. She gives a quick glance at the second option and sees that there are no ropes indicating the presence of any safety net or precaution of any kind.

The choice is clear.

Backing away as Grell advances, Eve stares him down as if he is a tiger... and steps backwards to suddenly disappear over the edge of the roof.

"Eh? Where did you go?" The attacking redhead whines, his momentary trance of feral ferocity forgotten. "Don't tell me you've surrendered already! And things were just getting good!" Rushing to the edge of the platform, Grell leans over, his crimson locks draping over his shoulders to rest in thin air...

Only to have his face smashed in by a pair of boots. Boots that belong to Eve; for when she had jumped off the roof, it had not been so much 'jumping off the roof' as it had been 'jumping off the roof and gripping the very edge as to not plummet to her possible 'death'. Before Grell can recover from the kickback and splutter some indignant quip about his face, Eve pushes off with her hands to wrap her legs around the redhead's torso, and flip right-side-up to knock Grell to the ground. Thus, with an 'oof' and heavy thud as he falls, Grell is pinned down by Eve.

Eve then proceeds to, as one student later eloquently puts it, "Beat the shit out of him." Sheathing her scythe, the trainee resorts to her fists for the close combat, punching the man beneath her multiple times and holding him down as he tries in vain to escape, his attempts to turn away from the barrage of hits found useless, his arms held down by her knees.

This entire time everyone, Grell included, is too taken aback by the spectacle to move a muscle, save for Undertaker, who is busy laughing his head off. ("Hee hee hee! This is just too much! Haha...!")

"Guh- Gah- How are you even doing this?!" The challenger finally finds the time to screech, between hits.

"Easily." Eve decides to say in a rare moment of passive-aggressiveness made rather redundant by the fact that she is currently beating him up. "Now shut up and let me throttle your face."

Her choice to respond distracts her however, and Grell takes this chance to head butt her in a surprise attach, somehow freeing himself and flipping their positions so he is on top of Eve. "Alright, _now _you've got me pissed off." He hisses, and that psychotic personality of his returns like water down a fall. "So _pay for it._"

His scissor blades raise and glint in the sunlight.

Eve's free hand lifts with it, stopping the plunge not an inch from her face. Then, with no warning, her breath hitches, and a small stream of fire shoots from her nose. The man pinning her down lurches back, caught off guard for just a moment, but it is enough.

Not being as properly pinned as Grell had been previously, she manages to deflect the scythe and get it buried in roof tiles just beside her head and grab the hand attached to it to regain her advantage in the fight. As Grell moves to dig his second weapon into her, Eve catches that one too, and rips it away. It slides across the floor, coming to a stop beneath Felicia's foot. The girl, who had been sitting cross-legged until now, squeaks and backs away in slight panic.

Wanting an end to the fight, she starts to hoist Grell upward and drag him to a ledge. "Pay for what?" She asks. "Acting in self defense? When you were the first to attack? And for what, a wish?" She scowls and manages to get Grell held over the edge, whose eyes are blazing with fury as he growls like a wild cat and tries to free himself, but to no avail; Eve's fingers are curled in an iron grip, and his scythes are useless, having been wretched away. "Wishes are useless. No one said they ever come true." She rasps just loud enough so the other can hear, as she lets go and kicks Grell square in the chest as he falls. And so, screaming and screeching in his usual irritatingly high-pitched way, Grell falls to his possible doom, and something, where, deep, deep down inside the recesses of Eve's soul, feels wonderfully satisfied as she watches this happen.

However, this feeling soon dies as the redhead falls right into the safety net.

"..." Felicia decides not to say anything.

"..." Brandi decides not to say anything.

"..." William and the rest of the students decide not to say anything.

"Pfttthahahaaha!" Undertaker giggles. "Well, suffice to say, you pass. What do you think, _Willu?_" He pops up from his seat on the ground and makes his way towards Eve with a flouncy gait, his cloaked arms held up in the air.

The instructor in question clears his throat begrudgingly, visibly strained by resisting the urge to correct the legendary reaper in front of everyone. "As the mentor in charge of evaluating the student, that is up to you do decide." He answers. "However, in my own opinion, yes, the performance was sufficient enough for a passing mark."

"Good!" The mortician chirps, and, without any warning whatsoever, stretches his arms out wide behind Eve and wraps them around her in a tight bear hug. Ignorant of Eve's stiffened squall and furiously whispered pleas ("Sir? Sir?! I have to ask you to let go of me...!") he then proposes "Then you won't mind clearing everyone else out so I can have a word with my... _protégée _at the moment? I'll have to steal her from the class from now on; she due to write the rest of her exams now."

A deliberate nod comes from William in response. "Yes sir."

And so, the other students file out, one by one, Felicia waves goodbye but no one else does, Eve included, William eventually fishes out Grell and drags him out by the hair, and Eve, sullen faced, is left alone with Undertaker, who still has his arms firmly circling her at the waist.

"So," the silver-haired male decides to half hiss, half whisper right into the girl's ear, pressing her in close, "It's 'sir', now, is it?" His words carry that trace of danger again, like when he had talked to William when Eve had first met the reaper, but with something else in them that Eve cannot detect.

Eve looks over her shoulder at Undertaker, who is holding her too tightly for her liking. Her voice is orderly in tone and completely calm as she answers, one of her arms taking a break from trying to wrest Undertaker's away from her to push up her glasses. "As my mentor, it's only proper to address you as such. I'd use your last name as well, but you never told me yours."

"Oh come now," He pouts, jovial once more. "Surely there's no need to that! We're close enough friends to be on a first name basis, don't you think, my lady?"

"Then why do you always call me that?" The 'lady' in question grumbles.

"Hmm?"

"'My lady.' Why bother calling me that? I'm no longer nobility; in fact, I'd given up the title before I even met you. You say we're on a first name basis when we don't even call each other by our first names. How does that work out?" Eve explains, as she continues to pry at her captor's arms, trying to free herself.

She does not have to try long; the mortician has an apparent change of heart and very quickly lets her go... only to put his equally strong hands on her shoulders and steer her towards the exit. "Alright then... Eve." Undertaker smiles, saying the girl's name for the first time. "I'll correct myself. But first, I do believe you have two examinations to write. Shall we?" Getting to the door, he swirls around and opens the door for Eve with a gentleman's bow. As he watches the girl sniffle, still recovering from the remnants of a cold despite mostly recovering from it the night before, he grins cheekily and adds, "It's getting rather cold outside, isn't it?"

"...alright then." She agrees, and goes back inside.

"Huzzah! Then onwards we go!" And with this, the mortician follows Eve and closes the door behind him.

**...**

"Wait a minute..."

"Yes, _Eve?_"

"You never told me _your _first name. What is it, anyways?"

"Why, it's Undertaker of course!"

"Lia-"

"Ohh, just kidding! 'Undertaker' has been my first name for a while now; it may as well be the real thing! But how about one day I'll tell you?"

"One day soon?"

"Hahahahah- no."

"Ah. I'll just take what I get, then."

**...**

"...Undertaker."

"Yeeeeeeesss?"

Eve stares down from her seated position at the leering face situated underneath her. "You're rather close. Uncomfortable so."

"Why of course I am!" Undertaker, who is leaning on Eve's desk with both elbows and his chin, makes and odd rolling motion so his shoulder's and head are sprawled all over the student's writing surface, along with her test. "I'm supervising. _Obviously, _hehe."

Not the slightly bit interested or amused, Eve's face looks below from directly above the mortician. "Can you 'supervise' with your face less near my face?"

"Oh my, was that a question?" Undertaker's grin stretches as he tilts his head a few degrees and cups his hand behind a pierced ear. "I do believe questions are only asked when _information _is involved..."

Understanding the implication, Eve only buries her fingers in her bangs and leans over her exam paper. "Ugh... nevermind." She groans, and she returns to writing.

The funeral director turned supervisor lets his arm drop with a 'phumph' and continues to watch his student work with eerie attentiveness. Not ten seconds pass when he breaks the newly born silence with his own curiosity. "Why would you ask such a thing anyways? Am I making you uncomfortable?" His words may sound concerned at first, but inside, he is near laughter.

The test-taker looks up from her leaning position. "Oh my." She echoes Undertaker's earlier words with cool indifference. "Was that a question?"

Chuckling at the verbal spar, Undertaker decides to give in, just this once. "Why yes, it in fact was! Tell you what," He offers. "Since we both have things to talk about, I'll waive any fees in ohhh, the next ten minutes." Ten minutes just happen to be the amount of time Eve has left to answer the exam questions.

"Things? What things?" A twinge of annoyance worms its way into Eve's voice. "You're obviously trying to pester me and have nothing of significance to talk to me about- and I have a test to take."

"Ah~!" The mortician practically sings in delight. "But this is your one and only chance to get whatever information you want from me absolutely free! Surely a smart young lady such as you doesn't want to give up such a precious chance... "

Eyeing Undertaker with suspicion, Eve shoves her chair backwards and regards him from afar. "Then what's your real name?"

"I forgot to say, _almost _whatever information. Sorry!" is the answering chirp.

"... your favourite food?"

"Cookies! What else?"

The girl momentarily looks away to mentally note something to herself. Then she turns back and asks another question. "Drink?"

"Earl Grey tea. Lovely stuff, especially with cubes upon cubes of sugar."

"Your opinion on Mister Spears?"

"Far too uptight for my liking. It'd do him some good to spend some time in a quality coffin."

"Mister Sutcliff?"

"Ahahaha, one very feisty 'lady', I admit. I remember quite a few customers that landed in my humble shop because of him. Quite a lot of fun to take care of them, quite a lot..."

"The answers to the test?"

This sharp turn of conversation comes without too much surprise on Undertaker's part, but he still feigns it in a mock drama performance. "You mean to cheat?" He accuses, even though he knows Eve well enough to know her next answer.

That answer happens to be a shrug and the words "Why not? You never said I couldn't- and so long as the results are the same, the method one uses shouldn't matter so much- _if _you take into account any consequences."

"You really do want a perfect score on this test, don't you?" The man muses with a tiny smile.

"Of course."

"This test, which, by the way, you have two minutes left to finish."

"!" Shoved into a sudden panic, Eve whips her head to the clock hanging high on the wall in front of her to see that her supervisor is right, and promptly begins to rush through her answers at top speed, cursing under her breath.

Undertaker only laughs.

**...**

"Oh, hey Miss Britford!" Ronald greets Eve with unwavering cheer as he sees her for the first time after she had been taken in for testing. "How did the exam go?"

He is only replied with a groan from the girl as she leans against the wall, as if sick. "Eh? What's wrong? Are you feeling alright?"

"Nghgnatedeskwork."

"What was that?"

"_I hate desk work._"

Ronald blinks. "Wow. That was the most normal thing I've ever heard you say, ever. You sure you're okay? You're sniffling awfully loud."

"I'm fine." Even as the curly-haired blonde reaches out to touch her shoulder, to support her somehow, she senses him coming from behind and says, "Really. It's just a cold. You'd want to stay away if I were you."

Though his hand falters, Ronald decides to coax her one more time anyways. "What makes you think that? I don't get sick too easily, you know."

"I sneeze fire."

Thinking back to all the strange things, even for Grim Reapers, which had happened around the girl, Ronald makes the decision to take his hand off her should and give her some room. "I believe you." He says.

And he sidles away.

"Oh! Wait!" However, just as Eve is about to make a quick exit, Ronald says something that catches her attention. She whips to see him pumping his fist on an open palm. "I'm supposed to take you to a room for your marks and final test soon!"

"What time is it?" With the adrenaline surge she had gained from the earlier fight wearing off, Eve can feel her sickness coming on again in her bones, hear it in the croak of her voice.

"Well, let's see." The boy looks at his watch and his face freezes the exact same way Eve had seen it do so before. "Uh... two minutes or so."

A hiss and sad sigh sound out. "Sttttt... hah. Then take me there." Eve says wearily. And she is promptly dragged by the hand by one winking Ronald Knox.

**...**

"Thirty seconds late." William tuts as they walk in. He is sitting at a table with two different light brown files, one in from of him, one in front of Grell, who is glum and sporting a few large welts, not just from his earlier fight. Judging from his distance from William, he had attempted to do something that rhymes with 'Celeste', and had been appropriately punished for it.

Ronald gives a nervous laugh and points to himself. "Blame that on me again, boss." He says. "Now if you don't mind, I'll be going now."

"No." William stops him and motions to the chair in front of Grell with his spear, before using it to push up his spectacles. "Sit; you are still needed. Miss Britford, you too."

With little protest from neither Eve nor Ronald, the two sit down, the former, in front of William, the latter, in front of Grell.

The brunet adjusts his spectacles again and then addresses the girl in front of her. "Evangeline Sonata Britford." He speaks clearly and pronounces every syllable with care... or perhaps that is just what Eve perceives it as, what with her hanging intently on his every word. "You received a AAA grade on your practical, written, and ethics exam, giving you an average of AAA. Given your irregular situation, you have been allowed to participate in the final exam early. This file contains the information of the human whom you will have to reap to perform your final exam." William's free hand then slides a brown folder towards Eve, white paper peeping out from the edge. "As there are no other students at the same stage, your partner for this will be Ronald Knox."

To acknowledge this, Eve just shifts her eyes for a moment to glance at Ronald. He gives a reassuring, completely unneeded smile, and a quick wave that does not fail to escape Grell's notice, despite the effeminate male's supposed interest in his fingernails. "Ohhhh, getting friendly with the newbie, are you Ronnie dear?" He purrs, only to be stopped by William, who knocks him on the head with his scythe.

"Quiet, you." William scolds. "Do not say anything if it does not pertain to the case."

"Case?" Eve and Ronald inquire simultaneously. The blonde's eyebrow rises inquisitively.

Rolling his eyes and smirking (apparently he is quite used to William casually clocking him on the head), the redhead taps a finger on his, soon to be Ronald's, own file, with is much thicker than the one sitting in between Eve and William. "Yeees, because it would be unfair for _Evangeline _here to get help from a fully fledged reaper, Ronnie here is getting an assignment of his own. And you don't need to help, by the way. Don't go thinking that with a triple AAA you can do everything; you're talking to a AAA student right now! Ow! Willu~! Now what was that for!?"

_There's that ~ thing again..._

Just as irritated with Grell's boasting as Eve is, the brunette in question withdraws his spear, which he had just lodged, pointy end first, firmly into the redhead's temple. "As I recall, you only received a AAA grade on your practicals. Your written grade was average and your ethics, subpar. Also, I thought I ordered you not to talk unless you had something important to say."

"But it _was _important!" Grell whines, attempting to nurse his poor face by rubbing a hand over the wound. "She has to know not to bite off more than she can chew, hmmm?" Suddenly, at William's mention of his past grades, his made-up face lights up and his expression turns dreamy and sickeningly romantic again like it often does. "Oh, Will, you still remember that day? You really do care! I knew you couldn't forget our first night together- our very essences combined as one, joining in a-"

Thankfully, before the flamboyant reaper starts to converse about something that would had needed to be heavily censored, William kindly shuts up him with another jab to the face, this time to the nose specifically.

"I thought I told you." He scowls only the slightest amount, succeeding for the most part to keep his expression neutral. However, the grit of his teeth, . "Not. To talk. Unless you had something important to say. While I am unfortunate enough to be the one to supervise you during your probation, I would rather not have to listen to your natter any more than necessary." Which each emphasized syllable, the strict instructor drives the point, and the end of his scythe, in a little deeper.

Amidst William's scolding, and Grell's pouting, Eve and Ronald sweatdrop.

_This conversation is more about them then us, isn't it..._

* * *

**Annnnnnd scene! That's a wrap people! I wanted to end on a humorous note, plus put in some interaction between William and Grell. How the former frequently injures the latter is amusing to me.**

**Next up! Eve and Ronald investigate the mysterious assignment! But because Ronald is a bum who likes to spend his free time flirting Eve will be all like 'get yo' ass ova' here' and he'll have to be like 'okay' for fear he will get beat up.**

**Or something.**


	7. Preparations

**I don't know whether the response to this story should encourage me because every review I'm gotten is so meaningful, or whether it should depress me because I've gotten so little reviews. Or if I'm just really tired and this is just me rambling because it's way past my bedtime. It's probably the third.**

**Seriously though, everything I've written lately has had like NO reaction hardly most everyone who's read it so far. (Why is my stuff so unpopular? D8)**

**Meh. Tired rant is tiring.**

**on a completely unrelated note, who is familiar with Skulduggery Pleasant? It's my FAVOURITE books series like EVER, I'm not kidding. I wanna write a fanfic but I feel too busy.**

* * *

"Mister Knox."

She calls to him once through the throng of people, but to no avail; the workplace of those about to time out for the day (a shift is soon ending,) is much more chatty and stuffy and generally loud than usual, and the medium din, not to mention the blond's own preoccupation with flirting with his eyelash-batting coworkers, seems to make it difficult for him to hear anything not less than a three foot radius from him. Not quite wanting to get that close, the girl's brow creases, and she tries again.

This time, Ronald's name comes a little more forcefully. If half works. He makes a quick once around, having faintly heard the summon, but his eyes do not even do near to where she is standing and soon return to the girls before him.

With a full-blown frown, Eve wades carefully along milling workers trying to appear busy to get out of being roped into doing anything productive for the five minutes between them and freedom. If her partner is too distracted to get to work, she acknowledges, she best be the one to prompt him to do so. When she is close enough, she leans over, closer to the blond's ear, and before he can notice the action and assume it is the flirting advance of some other ingénue he is wooing, Eve says slowly, deliberately, and completely devoid of any spirit, mirth, or sign of life whatsoever, "Yo."

That gets his attention, and he whips his head around to glance at her. A smile renews itself on his face, replacing the brief confusion that had been there previously. "Miss Britford!" He greets warmly. "Or can I call you Evangeline outside of work? What can I do for you?"

It occurs to Eve that her senior had never really referred to her by name. "Eve is fine." She says stiffly, answering the first question. Then she answers the second one. "We need to work on your assignment."

"..." The blond-black haired reaper raises an inquiring eyebrow and says "Are you sure? We only got the assignment yesterday, and it's an easy case, just watching a group of humans to make sure no demons show up or nothing." His face quickly relaxes again and he leans a little deeper into the counter he is currently supporting himself on, waving a hand to reassure Eve (or not). "We've got plenty of time."

"Says the one constantly being late."

Ronald flinches slightly, as if Eve had given him a good knock on the head. "Yeah, well..."

Their conversation, and by extension the accused worker's defence, is interrupted by one of the other female reapers who had, up to this point, been very awkwardly standing by and watching. "Um, Ronnie..." One of them, a chocolate colored brunette with small oval glasses and an apparent attachment to the blond in question, asks, "Who is this girl?"

Upon realizing that she would not be able to relay the rest of her intended message without bystanders present in this situation, the corners of Eve's mouth twitch downwards momentarily and she turns to exclusively address her partner. "Can I talk to you about this in private?" Her accent becomes more pronounced; she is rather agitated.

Another eyebrow raise. "You can go ahead and talk, you know." He gestures to the rest of the small group, all comprised of females. "There's nothing you can say to me that you can't to the others, right? Unless..." Suddenly, his smile becomes a great deal more coy, and flirtatious. "It's not really about what you say it is...?"

Not amused at all, Eve's eye twitches and she decides to simply grab the boy by the arm and drag him out of the room, into the adjacent hallway. Ignoring his cries of "Ow! I was kidding, I'm sorry!" she pushes him out of sight and into another room, an empty one with only desks inside.

...

"You didn't need to do that-!" Ronald starts to chide the smaller, but apparently stronger trainee dragging him through the halls, but stops dead in his tracks as Eve pushes him in, and licks the door behind her. "Wait a minute, what are you doing?" His body seizes up in a moment of panic. Suddenly, he thinks, me may have been right earlier about the girl not wanting to talk about just work... Until the junior reaper takes out a folder that had escaped his notice until now and simply sets it on a table.

"Listen to what I say, because I'll only say this once." With hurried but still carefully precise movements, she opens the brown flap to uncover parchment written on with thin, slightly curled, slanting script. Her handwriting. Each hand gets to work spreading out the sheets so he can read them all, one by one. "Your assignment was a mere observation in the countryside, am I correct? To ensure that the reaping of multiple souls does not go astray."

"... Yes." The blond has absolutely no idea where Eve is going with this, or for that matter, where she got that information. "How did you-"

"You left the file open on your desk. I saw it." She cuts him off, speaking in a flat tone. Before he can voice any indignation, or maybe even use that fact as a way to have her join that group date he will going to in a few hours, (hey, a ladies' man has to be smooth in all kinds of situations) the reaper-in-training-in-question raises her hand and asks, "Please let me finish." So he does. "I took the liberty of investigating the scene in question and taking files from the Scotland Yard police headquarters in London-"

"Wait, 'taking' files from a police base? And here I thought you'd be a strict goody two shoes." Ronald laughs before he can stop himself. Some people are full of surprises.

Eve just shrugs. "It was necessary, given that the crime scene-to-be shows evidence of being the setting for past crimes. One could probably get the same information from Undertaker, but ah... I'm not the most proficient at fulfilling his requests."

Though briefly stumbling through words, as if trying to wade through a bunch of them to pick out what to say, the girl quickly recovers and keeps talking. "Anyways, according to the police files, quite recently there was an incident involving the same people that are mentioned in your case. They were arrested for human trafficking, but were soon after released; it isn't too hard to do for nobility these days. This is relevant because the owner of the estate you are to observe- belonging to one Aleister Chamber- was the leader of this group, and the particular event taking place during the investigation seems to be a secret midnight party and a continuation of what the group had been doing before they were previously interrupted. The social season is supposedly over, so no doubt that they simply want to finish what they had started."

Splayed out in front of him, Ronald watched piece of evidence one after the other make themselves known; a copy of a party invitation surreptitiously snatched off a desk with frivolous claims of magic and wonder that give no allusion to human trafficking, a perfect copy of a police report right down to the signature of one Lord Arthur Randell. The handwriting is not Eve's after all. "The manor itself has a hidden bottom floor that leads to a place with a stage, and several cages with drugged kidnap victims waiting for auction."

"All right, I hear you, but where are you going with this? And why go through all this trouble anyways?" For now, the impatient worker decides to give the girl the benefit of doubt, but he stretches too, slightly stiff from staying in place for too long. Or perhaps he is just itching to back into the crowd, where there are more people.

Eve takes out sketches-more copies, but this time of pictures- of some rather gruesome sights. For humans, at least. Naked bodies laying spread eagled on a large carved symbol, or prostate on a stone slab looking upwards to unseen sky. "People have disappeared near the dates of this man's parties before, only to occasionally reappear as victims as a failed summoning. For demons." The word 'demons', which, in Ronald's book, is synonymous with 'overtime', catches his attention and he strives to listen a bit more carefully. "Many victims are killed this way. I can't tell how many, but enough. This, combined with the desperation to survive many victims may be feeling," a finger taps on a list of names and dates, "And the fact that you were assigned this observation in the first place, by higher ups who may know things about this that we don't," another notions to a copy of- wait, that's his assignment! She recorded that too?! "Mean that there is a high probability that a demon will appear."

Eyes darting from one sheet of paper to another, mouth in the verge of hanging open, and head reeling from how exactly could she had copied his ENTIRE FILE so perfectly with such a little window of opportunity, the blond somehow manages to choke out his last question, "No offence, but you could have told me that without taking me away from the other girls, you know. Don't you think this is a little much?"

"The more details you confirm, the less of a chance you have of making a mistake. And I don't want to make it my business to deal with a mistake, ever. I didn't get the grades I got by not bothering to do a bit 'much'." Eve states, and then she leans in a little closer and her voice becomes more seriously sounding, if that is even possible. "We had a demon attack happen right under our noses a matter of weeks ago. At this rate, those 'other girls' could turn out to be demons themselves. How many of the people you know do you truly know?"

Several stretched out seconds pass between the two, while Eve stares intently at Ronald and Ronald tries to figure out exactly how to react to the information load that had just been dumped on him. For a few moments, neither one of them moves a single muscle.

Until a tickle finds it's way into a pit below Ronald's stomach.

And then that tickle turns into a bubble.

And then that bubble divides into many, many more bubbles that float up, up, out his abdomen to his mouth and out as joyous, uncontrollable laughter.

Oh, this girl is all too much. Going so far to prove a demon MIGHT show up. Suspecting a co-worker of being one. Saying everything with such a straight face- she still has one!- as if this one little thing could very well decide her life and death. It is all too much, and Ronald finds it hilarious.

"What's so funny?" Obviously not getting the reaction she was expecting, or hoping for, Ronald does not know which, his junior tilts her head to the side and frowns. "And here I thought you could be the lease bit serious about your work."

"It's not- that!" The blond manages to choke out between guffaws, "It's just- you're taking this SO 'no-nonsense-, you know? You'd think you were related to Mister Spears, or something. Look," Wiping a tear from his eye and calming himself down (... For the most part), He puts a hand on his subordinate's shoulder, since physical contact never hurts, and gives her the most reassuring smile he can. "You don't have to worry 'bout someone suddenly turning out to be a demon' in the workplace, okay? Demons never do that; there's no reason to be paranoid. And next time, you don't need to ask to talk to me privately- just drop by my cubicle whenever you need help, okay?"

This mollifies Eve for the most part, and she does not peruse the matter any further, though she does mutter, "Just 'demons' don't do that, is that it..." To herself, lost in thought, before realizing that Ronald still has his hand on her shoulder and shaking it off to walk up to the door and turn the lock again.

...

"Oh. Ronald, there you are!" Not two seconds out the door, the two reapers are ambushed by a gaggle of giggling girls, who promptly stop their rather annoying tittering as they lay eyes on her. The same co-worker who had been talking pipes up again. "We were looking for you, you know. Hey... Is this girl giving you trouble?" Though partially hidden, the vindictiveness and suspicion in the women's voice is evident.

Before Eve can open her mouth to say that no, she did not intend to cause trouble, and therefore what she and Ronald had been talking about is none of their business, the senior reaper in question throws an arm- a whole arm!- around her and grins to pacify the crowd. "Just a junior with a case of nerves is all; she got real shy and wanted to talk to me alone, seeing as I'm so helpful." It is a well crafted lie, taking advantage of Eve's quiet nature and his own more social one to make it more convincing. "Ladies, meet Evangeline Sonata Britford, soon to be your new co-worker- after she passes the final exam, of course."

And just like that, the entire group's air of tension disappears. Apparently they are easily satisfied. "Oh, okay!" One chirps with a feeling of blissful ignorance. "It's nice to meet you, Evangeline Sonata Britford."

This ends up opening the conversation, and leads to many other questions like, "Where did you get your name? It's really pretty, did you know that?" And "Hey, have you ever tried the sushi here? It's FANTASTIC." All of them rather personal and impertinent, and all of them directed at Eve, who cannot sneak off and escape the spotlight thanks to her being the centre of attention and that of the group of people around her.

Desperately not wanting to ask the many questions being lobbed at her like catapulted rocks during a siege (rocks on fire), Eve is luckily saved by a question a shorter coworker asks not her, but to the older reaper, who, for that matter, should really remove his arm from around her waist... "So, Ronald, you're coming to tonight's party, right?"

"Oh, definitely, of course!" The reaper in question confirms. "I'm looking forward to it, Donna."

"So you already have plans? Eve asks, a little disappointed. "I was hoping I'd be able to plan the case investigation with you."

"Just in case?" Another eyebrow raise and accompanying smile from Ronald tells her he already knows the answer.

She nods. "Just in case."

The new centre of attention strokes an imaginary beard in fake wisdom as he considers things. "Well, why don't you come with us? It's an open party after all, and if it's just in case it's not like it'll matter if all we do is talk it over."

"Ah," For the first time in a long time, Eve falters significantly. She had never been put in this position before.

"Come on!" Ronald cajoles, playfully prodding Eve in the ribs, though he doesn't press the matter when she shies away from the touch immediately. She will never get used to him, will she? "It'll be loads of fun, I promise! Actually, I shouldn't say that knowing you- don't give me that look, you know it's true! But what I can guarantee is good stuff to drink, pool and poker to play, and free food-"

"I'm in." Eve cuts in quick as a flash of lightning. She may be an anti-social introvert with years of painful mental scarring to bottle up and deal with, but she will be damned if she is going to refuse a free meal.

"Really, just like that?" The blonde blinks a few times and does the old, 'looking there and back' routine, as if not believing what he had just heard. "Great! Then, why don't I pick you up at six? Usual place?"

"Fine." Eve shrugs.

Another girl grabs Ronald's arm and tugs it closer against her body. "Aw, no fair, Ronald! You said you were going to me up after work!"

"I can pick you up after no prob," The boy responds smoothly. "It's a group date after all. Do you think Lucas would be up to coming too?"

"Hmmm, I dunno, I think he told me he might have overtime..."

"Hey, Ronald! Then can you pick me up too?"

Finally, with the attention drawn away from her (Ronald may prove to have even more uses than she thought) Eve manages to slip away and disappear, as she so much more prefers to do than talk of parties and socializing.

Well, at least she is getting a meal out of it.

...

"Ohhhhh? You're going out on a date? I for one, am shocked!" Undertaker feigns a heart attack, clutching at the fabric at his chest, leaning back and making the dramatic face of a fish drowning in air, as he expresses his obviously genuine surprise (note the sarcasm) before dissolving into another fit of giggles. "To think you would willingly go on an outing like thaaatt. It's so unlike you, Eve."

"It is not a date." Eve shoots back. "He's getting me dinner and agreeing to go over plans for when we infiltrate the scene in question-"

"So you're expecting to have to break in? Naughty naughty." The creepy smile on his face increases in creepiness, a formidable feat, as Undertaker slides down the coffin the two are seated on and leans in quite close to Eve, who promptly shoves him away and makes him fall back, flailing and snickering.

"Yes... Though he doesn't know it it." The girl crosses her arms in an attempt to visibly close herself off from Undertaker's attempts to unsettle her. It does not work and he plops himself down right next to her again. "Either way, I'd deem it a fair price to pay for having to go outside for a whole night. And no offence, but I'm growing rather tired of eating cookies for breakfast and dinner all  
the time."

"And why do you think that is?" A sassy tone reminiscent of one scarlet reaper inches itself into the tone of Undertaker's question as he taps one aforementioned cookie against his chin. "In my own humble opinion, you spend far too much time inside."

"Says the one who talks to corpses for company."

"I'll have you know they can hold very interesting conversations!" Undertaker exclaims and claims at the same time. "Like Mister Smith over there, who had the misfortune of falling off a bridge. Apparently the water in London is getting quite cold this time of year, did you know that? My point is, in your current occupation, it's in your best interest to get to know who you work with, hmmm? I know I do. It's best to get along with your coworkers and avoid any additional... Friction that may happen between them and you."

Now it is Eve's turn to perform an inquisitive eyebrow raise at the unusually un-cryptic advice the mortician is offering her. "Oh?" She mimics his earlier words, minus the teasing tone and stretched out syllables. "You're showing concern for a living being? I, for one, am shocked."

"Well..." Briefly, Undertaker seems to be talking seriously. "I do want what's best for you. Believe it or not, I do care a good deal about you."

Now Eve is truly surprised. "Really?"

"Of course." Undertaker smiles a rather softer smile than usual. "I haven't ever had a guest stay for so long, or for that matter, give me so many laughs! I'm growing quite fond of you, Eve."

"..." Really, truly surprised. "Thank you...?" Is all she can say. And luckily, she needs not have to say much more, because just after, the door vibrates with a triple knock. "Oh, that must be him." She acknowledges, a little absentmindedly.

"Go on." The man coaxes, as Eve gets up and opens the door to reveal Ronald, who does not look much different than usual. Same glasses, same hair, same smile. He is, however, wearing a hat.

"Hi." He greets. "Ready to go?"

"Enjooyy~!" Undertaker calls out just as the two leave, drawing out the last half of the word like stretching taffy. "Ah, now where was I? I do believe Miss Belfrey had something to say about that philandering lover of hers... What fun!"

...

Ronald does not like party poopers.

It should be an obvious fact. His natural habitat is practically anything with a partying atmosphere, and therefore he has quite a disliking for those who may ruin a perfectly good get together. Like someone who drinks way too much on someone else's pay check and leaves with all the girls (*COUGH*Eric Slingby*COUGH*)? Or by being incredibly gloomy and pessimistic and trying to dump that gloominess and pessimistic-ness on everyone else. Or by hogging all the attention by pole dancing on someone else's Death Scythe... Actually, when Grell had done that at the birthday party he had thrown William a few years back, that had been pretty damn hilarious...

But anyways. Back on track. Ronald likes parties. He does not like people who ruin parties. As a result, he does not like party poopers. And for that matter, he is not inclined in the slightest to usually pay attention to wallflowers. Which he considers party poopers in the sense that they kind of clog up the atmosphere with their mopiness. After all, there's no point to a party if not to have fun, right?

Then why is it that that girl has been hanging back, doing nothing, absolutely nothing, but watch others for the past half hour, and Ronald cannot for the immortal life of him take his eyes off her?

It is probably because she has that whole 'dark and mysterious' aura about her, he tells himself. Yeah, that has to be it. The unsmiling, the dark brooding, the silence; if males fitting that description can make girls swoon in those cheesy romance novels he has heard so many female co-workers squeal about, a girl doing the same thing is bound to attract some kind of attention. Even from Ronald. Because apparently he is into that kind of thing-

No! No! Bad Knoxie! Ronald has to catch and mentally scold himself for a while. No hitting on a girl you've met for like two weeks! That's just not cool! Besides... She's just here on business anyways.

"Not everyone present is due to die, so if we watch from afar and a demon is present, it will most likely attempt attacking us and cause problems." She had said. "It's best to hide with the rest of the crowd; we're less likely to be interrupted if hidden in plain sight."

They had gotten the business end of their conversation over quickly, but the other end had turned out to be just that: an end. And now the two are simply standing on opposite sides of the room, Eve watching everyone else and not intending to make a move, Ronald watching Eve and waiting for her to do something.

At last he thinks to himself, Eff it. If I can't get everyone involved and enjoying a social event, what kind of lucky-go reaper o' fun would I be? Eh, that sounded pretty lame, actually... I'll think of a better name later.

So he swallows the rest of his drink and crosses the room.

...

"Hey. So, how's it going?"

Eve lifts her head and glances at Ronald, who had come up to her with an empty glass in his hand. She soon breaks her gaze away to rove it over the sight before her; reapers dance to swing music melting into blues to jazz back to swing, their arms and legs tangling with each jump and pull. People drink freely from kegs of beer and other kinds of liquids she is rather wary of talking about. Contenders huddle around card and pool tables, betting amounts of cash on different possibilities, hooting with victory when they win, groaning in defeat when they lose. Everyone here looks as if they are thoroughly enjoying themselves, so jovial, so carefree, so unlike Eve. She does not fit in in the slight. "Fine." She says. "I'd rather like to go back soon, though."

"Not your type of joint?"

"No." The 'joint' in question happens to be several 'joints', the collection of several reapers' rooms combined to create a space, a bubble of sorts, in which all that exists inside is celebration and fun-having. Rather than take Undertaker's advice to heart, Eve had found herself feel rather overwhelmed, and instead contented herself with watching others instead. It was not so bad, really. One can learn far more from a person just by watching them than what one can garner from a simple conversation with the subject. Still, even seeing so many people at once makes her a little uncomfortable, she has to admit.

Sensing this, Ronald assures her, "Then I'll take you back-"

"Yoooouuuuu HOOOOO! Ronald Knox you out!" Until his words are amputated rather brutally by a reckless holler. It is a male calling him from the poker room, shuffling a deck of cards between rolling fingers. "You gonna get your ass over here and play that hand you promised or what?"

"Can't it wait, John? I've got a girl to take home!" The blond cups his hand and responds equally loudly to carry his voice across the din of the many party-goers.

Among many hoots of, "OHHHHHHHHH!" Which mildly surprises Eve but does not deter Ronald in the slightest, apparently used to it, John smirks rather lecherously and says, "That's fine, let 'er play too! We'll teach her and hold her hand or tuck her in or whatever and everything!"

Cue the eyebrow raise from the girl and the awkward laughter from the boy. "Ahaha... They always get like that after a few drinks. You don't have to play if you don't want to."

"I'll do it." The junior says rather quickly, already planning what to do.

A split second stare and shrug later, Ronald guides her to the table and they sit down.

"That's the spirit!" John handles the cards like a pro and puts down several sets together. "Listen up, sweet cheeks, here's how it goes. You get dealt hands. Depending on what it is," he goes thought the order of the hands' hierarchy here, "You can be on top, or not on top. The difference between the two? The first one gets all the money."

"Money?" Eve asks, and she is met with somewhat drunk laughter.

"Yeah, the money. You have some with you to bet, so you bet according to how high you think your hand is. But here's the thing. You can make people bet more by raising the number. The more confident you are of having the highest hand, the more you bet. 'Course, even if you got not even a pair you can try and up the ante and bluff your way through, make everyone fold. Do that, and you win. Got it? Well, that and at least ten pounds."

"Yes." Searching their pockets a bit, both newcomers cough up ten pounds to be converted to chips, even though several other players seem to have double or triple that amount to work with, and suddenly John hands Eve a small yellow chip. "Dealer's buck." He say, referring to the right to deal the cards. "Ladies first."

Nodding in agreement, Eve takes the stack of cards, which feel worn and soft with feathery edges as she shuffles them between her fingers. Counting carefully, she finishes and starts to deal them out, from left to right.

...

"Well, I'm folding." John admits, completely defeated. "Anyone else wanna have a go?"

Eve, who is seated next to him, collects and pushes the entire total of her chips into the centre, which just so happens to be the majority of all the players' money in the entire game, having spent the last seven rounds beating out everyone else with skill, dumb luck, and Ronald knows what else. For someone just introduced to the game, the girl is freakishly good. "All in."

A collective groan rises out of everyone else sitting that the table like their souls were floating out of their mouths along with them. One by one, grumbling reluctantly, each person either folds or goes all in, until four more people go, and Ronald's turn, the last one, comes, and the last remaining player to make a move stares at Eve's stone cold face.

There is no movement, no sign of a tell, whatsoever. In fact, she may not even be breathing.

Damn, she is good.

"You know what?" Ronald decides on a spur of the moment revelation. "I'm going to go on a limb here and guess that you won't have the highest hand of the bunch. Again. I'm all in."

So he takes his chips, not much less than what he had started with, and puts them in the centre. With the look on most of his opponents faces, their hands were mediocre at best. And Eve could not possibly have a hand that high, right? Ronald is fine so long as she has something like a full house. A four of a kind, even. He can beat a four of a kind.

No such luck. As she lays down the cards, the combination of a royal flush is evident. Now the groaning really gets loud, as John exchanges Eve's winning for cash and she moves to leave. The victor is momentarily delayed, however, by John congratulating her. "I gotta say, that was pretty bleeding impressive." He sounds sincere, as of genuinely bewildered. Or maybe drunk.

"Hmmm. Well," she says, apparently feeling conversational for once. "I suppose now I have your money in my pocket, it's safe to tell you I was counting cards the entire time to win."

"..." The ensuring silence would be rather hilarious to Ronald, looking at everyone else with their blanched faces and hanging open mouths, if it were not for the fact that he had lost ten perfectly good pounds to her too.

Now Eve really does get up to leave. "And now that you know that, hopefully you will never impede me to play a game of poker, or offer to hold my hand, ever again."

Then she grabs Ronald's arm and drags him away. Again.

...

"Uh, wow..." Trying to break an incredibly awkward and tense silence that had persevered between the two for the last half hour, Ronald chuckles half-heatedly and sweeps a hand through his hair. "That was some spectacle you showed there. Were you planning to do that the entire time?"

"No." Eve keeps her eyes ahead, staring coolly at the moonlight cobblestone before their feet. It had just rained in London; a silvery sheen flows over the landscape like a translucent blanket, as light from the wet surfaces is reflected, and the cool night air makes the scene feel like it had been drawn by an artist, crisp-lined and gloss-speckled.

"The folks back at work won't be too happy with you next time they see you, I think."

"Agreed."

"Then why decide to do it?"

The low temperature makes her put her hands in her pockets. "To win. Because I could. Because I wanted to. Is there usually any other reason anyone does anything?" She breaks her gaze from the horizon to give him a glance, nothing more.

"Well... For another person, I guess." Is all that the blonde seems to be able to think of. But he has a good point. "Unselfish actions happen all the time. Haven't you ever seen one?"

"I have." As an afterthought, she adds, "I've done a few myself." What she does not say is that the majority of them had been done for someone who is long dead. Or, at least, it feels like an eternity for the raven-haired reaper for sure.

Ronald's voice is genuinely warm when he praises her. "Good! Then you know unselfish actions can get you far in life. I'd try doing a couple more if I were you."

"I'll think on it." Is all that Eve says. She refrains from telling him just how wrong he is. After all, when is an 'unselfish' action ever done entirely for someone else's sake? Humans always have some kind of ulterior motive whenever they help someone; Eve knows that from past experience. Reputation or reimbursement, there is always something they secretly hope for in return. Those 'somethings' may never end up being repaid, even. Unselfish actions only get you so far. When you are the one in need of help, Eve knows, the only person you can truly depend upon is yourself. Such is a facet in the nature of humans.

Then again... Undertaker, Ronald, and all reapers are not strictly human.

Neither is she.

Perhaps that is something to ponder later, she notes.

"Eve?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you alright?" Concern is in Ronald's voice. Had she really let the bitterness of her expression show through.

"I was just lost in thought, I think." She quickly reflects. "It's complicated." To further nip the bud of any growing conversation, she says rather hastily, "I can go back on my own from here. Thank you."

Nodding solemnly, Ronald agrees. "Oh, okay. See you tomorrow then. I promise not to be late this time for sure!" He gives a wave and turns to go, after giving one last somewhat half hearted smile

"Alright." She does the same, minus the smile.

* * *

**RonaldEmo. Just saying. Even or his little ball of sunshine can't cheer Eve Up. But don't worry. She'll develop something resembling an interesting personality eventually.**

**Eventually...**

**Naw, it's going to take pretty long, seeing the schedule I've put myself on. It's a long folks.**

***Falls asleep***


	8. No

**I think this is, like, the second last chapter of this arc or something. I haven't actually written the end yet so I can't be sure. I kinda hope I haven't lost readers up to now with my terrible writing, because the next one is going to be a doozy. If only I knew enough metaphors to put in it...**

**Oh yeah, and happy new year.**

* * *

"Oh, no no no no no!" Ronald reaches out and grabs Eve's wrist. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Hmm?" Knife in hand, red streaks of hair grasped with careful fingers, the girl looks up at the one who had just stopped her from cutting her hair. "What?" The reaction, having come out of nowhere, puzzles her somewhat. After all, it is just a simple hair cut; what would anyone be worried about?

The blonde blanches and adopts an exasperated expression, as if having to explain something horribly obvious to a very small child. "When you wanted to borrow a mirror, I didn't think it was for… You can't just do that! Cutting your hair right off, what were you thinking?"

"…that it's not that big a matter and that having red streaks in one's hair is too unconventional to go unnoticed in public? We're going undercover, remember?"

"Maybe, but…" Sighing, out of ways to explain things to Eve, Ronald just takes her arms and tries to drag her somewhere. "Here, let me show you something."

**…..**

"There! Isn't that better?" After being taken to Ronald's small cubicle where he supposedly fills out paperwork, where the blonde had grabbed a small, unidentifiable box, and then to a bathroom Eve is not sure she is even allowed to be in, Ronald had handed Eve a towel, told her to cover her eyes, and then squirted something cold and thick into her bangs, telling her to 'stay tight' for a while.

Several minutes and a thorough washing through later, Eve is standing in front of a mirror staring at a mess of long, wet, completely black hair. Blinking, as if trying to stare at something far away, she examines the black stands in front of her face, then in the mirror, and back again. "What sorcery is this?" She wonders aloud, making Ronald laugh.

He covers his mouth with his hand as he tries to get his fit under control, only to explain, "It's hair dye, Miss Britford. Not quite as magical as sorcery, but probably way easier to use. Next time you want to hack off your bangs, you can always come to me and I'll help you with that, alright?"

"…Thank you." Eve says without thinking. "This was a much better solution than what I was going to do."

"Glad to hear you say." Her partner answers, sounding quite relieved. "I suppose from now on getting ready for that ball won't be too much trouble, right? So long as no one else has any adverse objections, or the like…"

**…..**

"Oh, no no no no no! That won't do at all!" The shrill scolding grates the ears and causes every single worker in a ten foot radius, but oblivious as he always is to the fact, Grell presses on. "Don't tell me you plan to wear that raggedy excuse for a dress!"

Caught off guard by the random remark, Eve's head snaps up almost audibly, bringing her into eye contact with a certain red reaper that happens to be standing over her with an expression on his face tantamount to what a chicken may have upon laying a bad egg, if chickens can even contort their facial muscles. (Upon later research involving chickens and way too many feathers, Eve will later learn that they cannot.) She takes the formal gown on her arm and deliberately leans it away from Grell, lest he do something impulsive (which he probably will) and damages it. She had taken great metaphorical pain to procure it, after all. "...yes." Is all she says to answer. 'Is there a problem' is the most natural thing to say immediately following that, but the junior reaper refrains for a total of two reasons: one, she is not the most talkative person in the world, and two: Grell is, and most days she wants nothing more than to shut him up.

She never asks the question, but to her chagrin, the redhead starts to nag on like she had in the first place. "I mean, where's the flair? The style? The RED? That has to be one of the most boring things that dares calls itself a gown I've ever seen! Hmmm, if you ask me, I can probably make something to suit you MUCH better. It'd be a lovely crinsom, for one thing..."

"It is not meant to make me stand out, only blend in. It will serve its purpose, and that is all that I need from it." Eve defends, trying to satisfy the self-declared fashionista before he goes too far. "That aside, since when did you care for me at all, much less my tastes in disguises? The last time we met, I beat your face into the ground. And the Gods know how sensitive you are on the topic of your face."

Appearing to conveniently avoid hearing the last bit of the rather hostile protest, Grell croons, "That goes out the window when I want to give someone a makeover, darling."

_Darling?_ Is the first thought to enter her head, but the word that flies out her mouth just so happens to be some kind of natural reflex to the word. "_Makeover?!_"

"You don't think I'd let any of my precious students go around wearing such an abomination, would I?" The reaper's smile curves into the oh-so-slightest sarcasm at the word 'precious'. He takes a tiny, but still noticed and noted, step with his left foot, like a wild cat scouting out prey. "And Will's been bogging me down with just soooo much paperwork lately; I simply haven't gotten the time to find an outlet. You'll let me 'help' you, won't you...?"

Another step clicks on the hall floor, resounding in Eve's ears like a thundering echo even above the other noises of leather soles slapping on tile made by passing reapers. The red-obsessed reaper speaks softly, almost seductively, if it is not for the menace looming over the scene.

"I'm fine." She says, swallowing hard for some reason. "There's no need to-"

But Grell does not want to take 'no', whether it is outright said or implied, for an answer, so eager is he that he is literally creeping upon Eve with a glint in his eyes and his fingers poised like claws of a robber, or maybe a tyrannosaurus. And when she least expects it, which is technically when she usually expects bad things to happen the most, but even Eve can be caught off guard sometimes, the red-dressed reaper pounces, those claws of his reaching to catch the girl on the shoulder and drag her backwards.

"!" The victim in question sees him move, and turns to flee, but only manages to flail and run for a second or so thanks to the cumbersome dress and shoes held in her arms before she is captured. "No no no no no!" She thrashes to free herself but the lace and heavy fabric ensnares her and for some reason Grell has decided to develop super strength and hold her with an impenetrable grip. "Let me go! I need an adult! I need an adult!"

Alas, her rare pleas for help are ignored. "Too bad!" Grell half purrs, half chortles in victory. "William's not here, so there's no one who can stop me!"

He smiles a wide, cattish smile, one that means unimaginable, and to Eve, Grell looks more terrifying than he ever has.

**…..**

"And voila!" Grell gestures dramatically with one hand and then brings it to his mouth in a coy expression. "Absolutely gorgeous, I'd say, what do you think?"

"I will never forgive you for this." Eve snarls through grit teeth.

Pouting, Grell decides to get up close and personal, far too much so, and leans next to Eve, near enough that either party can reach out and touch a strand of the other's hair (not that Eve will ever desire for such a thing to happen, ever.) "Oh, dearie, when are you ever going to loosen up?" There is something close to pity or sympathy in his voice, and it is the sourest thing Eve has ever heard. "The cut, the design, and most of all, the color... It's fabulous."

"You think the dress is fabulous." The voluntold model points out. And truth be told, it is not a bad dress, she has to admit. It is simply the worst possible thing one can ever wear while undercover. The red, the feathers, the sparkling jewels. It suits Eve with frightening accuracy. However, despite this, she looks like a peacock. That had been set on fire. Because setting things on fire is exactly what to do when you want to be inconspicuous. (Note the heavy sarcasm.)

"Well." Grell grins and tosses his hair. "Even you should admit, when it comes to fashion, I am. On. Fire!" He purrs, poking his fingers with a sharp, manicured jab at each staccato note. Flaunting himself for no good reason makes him seem more annoying than usual to a certain someone.

"No you're not." Eve, suddenly acting on impulse, sparks a bit of flame in between her thumb and forefinger before raising it to Grell's head of hair, the strands of which are hanging over her shoulder because of the way Grell is leaning over her.

Fortunately for Grell, but not so for Eve, the former manages to quickly dart away from the flame, albeit with quite a panicked squawk, before spitting to the latter, "Why did you do that?!"

"You wanted to be on fire."

"That's not how I meant it!"

"That's how I took it."

"Why you- oh, hello, Ronnie." Indignantly, Grell moves to nearly slap Eve, only to stop short thanks to the entrance of his junior reaper. "What do you think of my work, hmmm? Unlike someone, I can always count on you to appreciate my talent~!"

"Hiya, Grell-sempai. Um, what are you doing here?" Ronald greets, as he closes the door behind him and tries not to look too taken by surprise. Apparently this is not the first time Grell has ever forced a makeover on someone. Yippee. "And wow, you look great, Miss Britford." He compliments, but the words are lost on the girl.

"Don't get used to it." Is all she mumbles.

The flamboyant redhead that should have burned to death for all Eve cares walks over to Ronald so the two are ogling Eve from the same vantage point. "See, Miss Britford here told me she was going incognito for a party and needed my help-"

"I told you no such thing!"

"-So suspenseful, don't you think? But she had this awful dress, you should have seen it, it was all pink and frilly and boring, ugh, that she was going to wear and well, I couldn't allow such a fashion faux pas to happen to anyone under my watch."

Ronald sweat drops. "Nice try. You just wanted an excuse to force a makeover on a girl that hadn't put a restraining order on you yet, didn't you?"

"Ahh, yes..." Grell admits. "But so few girls have the nice curves I look for. There are some things a corset can't get you, you know. Men, on the other hand... How about you, Ronnie? Fancy some new clothes?"

"Sweet offer sempai, but I'm not too hot on wearing dresses."

"That makes two of us." Eve groans, trumping off the desk she had been standing on until now and trudging towards the changing screen that Grell had pulled from thin air somewhere (or maybe he had been keeping it inside his scythe) but had not really been used. As she passes from one end to another, she changes from donning her (correction: Grell's) heavy red ball gown to her usual suit, the dress in question draped over her forearm. "Now if you don't mind, I'm returning this." She says sourly, attempt to shove the red thing into Grell's chest before walking past him out the door.

"Oh no you don't! You absolutely have to wear it to the party tonight, I insist!" Grell whines, grabbing Eve's arm as she passes and pulling her towards him.

"No, I don't." The girl snatches her original choice of dress off of a nearby chair from where it had been previously placed.

Looking with mild distain until he seems to get an idea, Grell's smile turns incredibly scary. "Well then... Now you do!"

And with that, he grabs said gown and runs off.

"What!" Once again, Eve is taken by surprise, but enough that she does not have the sense to give chase.

The following ten minutes involve three reapers running through exactly seven different rooms, ten hallways, and over eight coworkers' heads. In the end, when the redhead is finally cornered, he ends up smirking insufferably, raising the pink mass of frills in her hands, and tearing it in two.

"Now you have to go!" Triumphant, Grell spins around with the ruined dress in tow, unaware of the growing danger before him. "You shouldn't be so glum, I'm doing you a favour- eh?" He starts to say, only to be cut off when he is grabbed by the front and then swiftly punched in the face.

"You tore it up." Eve says, the deadened tone of her voice hiding something much more alive... Angry. She glares down on the dazed reaper, asking, "I suppose you didn't realize the trouble I went to procure such a thing?" It is not a question meant to be answered.

"Oh, no no no no no-" Ronald, suddenly coming to the correct conclusion of what Eve is about to do, tries to stop her, arms outstretched, but he is far, _far_too late. The resulting scream soon fades away as Grell falls from the window that Eve suddenly decides to put him through, but the thud that follows echoes loud and clear in Ronald's head like an explosion of fury and violence, which seems to sound very loud indeed.

As they watch a group of reapers remove the remains of Grell from the ground in a rather nonchalant fashion, (although a few trainee reapers who had the misfortune to witness the incident are in the middle of attempting and failing to prevent hyperventilation), the two watch from the window Grell had so unceremoniously exited through, one with embarrassed sheepishness, one with barely no emotion at all.

"You didn't really have to do that." The first one says, breaking the momentary silence as he looks at the shorter reaper beside him. "Was the dress really that important?"

"..." Eve refuses to make eye contact like she often does, although this time it looks a bit like she is pouting at the same time. "It wasn't necessary, just satisfying." The girl admits, turning away from the view to leave. Then, addressing the second point of the conversation, she continues, "And that gown was very important. Undertaker gave it to me."

"I see." Somewhat startled by the abrupt, almost tender sentiment Eve is presenting, he tries to apologize for his earlier snapping. "I'm sorry, I didn't know-"

"Because my pay was insufficient to afford a proper ball gown, he had to buy one for me. We were looking for a suitable shop for five hours because his erratic behavior kept causing us to be turned away." Eve suddenly keeps explaining, as if she had never heard Ronald talk in the first place, and stares at the ground in a grim, chagrined posture. "He ended up picking something pink and frilly. And he then sold it to me for what he 'said' was its 'worth of laughs'. It took far too much trouble to get, I swear..."

Ronald sweat drops again. "So that's what that was really about..." He mutters.

"Just my luck." She sighs. "Either way, I won't be enjoying tonight. I was never one for parties."

Now this, Ronald has to admit, he finds funny at Eve's expense, and he laughs in a way he hopes will not offend her as he says, "Don't I know it. From what that poker game was like, you're don't welcome strangers all too kindly. No need to worry through," He reassures her, or at least tries too, with a thumbs up and his best smile. (Which, by the way, he knows for a fact has made women swoon and crying babies laugh. Just putting that out there.) "Your Sempai here has it all covered when it comes to having a good time!"

...

"What a lovely vision of passion you are, my Pheonix! You look as if the embodiment of perfection itself made to bless humanity with its presence, shining glorious light on the darkness that is the human nature! Such delicate elegance you walk with, such grace with which you hold your head high, with what astonishing ability does your dress complement your very being!" The Viscount Druitt Alistair Chambers' mouth drips with compliments as sweet and sickening as overly rich chocolate, not that such a thing really exists, but if it does, it will do so for the sole sake of proving exactly how sugar-coated he madman's speech is. "I must ask, is this what love at first sight is? I do hope you'll be here to stay? We have some delightful entertainment I promise will not disappoint."

_Fuck you, Grell._

Fuck.

You.

They are supposed to lay low, the two of them.

They are supposed to blend in, the two of them.

They are supposed to merely attend, observe, and in Eve's case, reap a soul that is meant to discreetly pass away in three hours' time, leaving when the job is done with no one to the wiser, the two of them.

They are NOT supposed to gain the attention of anyone, much less the very host of the endeavor they are infiltrating, nor are they supposed to then arouse- which is really the best word, judging from the looks the Viscount is giving, to describe it in the worst possible sense- his interest in such a way that he may have his eyes on them the entire night. Or at least, her.

But then again, Eve had never been supposed to wear a dress of flaming red satin and silk, be drenched in jewels, nor stuffed into an unbearably tight corset, nor adorned with feathers that swayed whenever she turned, which, while complementing the dress itself perfectly, also makes her look like an attention grabbing peacock.

That had been set on fire.

(Because doing so seems to so obviously solve all of Eve's problems these days, like trying to be inconspicuous.)

She evens has a matching fan she had been using in vain to cover her face, but alas, the flapping and refraction of light of the nefarious, jewel-in crusted thing has done nothing to help her.

She really cannot ever win, can she?

Her partner, meanwhile, is still rubbing his jaw, no doubt trying to hold it shut after it had swung open earlier in the night. True, in retrospect, Eve should have warned him that, in his words, she is "actually GOOD at this kind of stuff?!" But to be fair he had never asked. After all, it never really occurred to her to share personal, detailed facts about herself, much less that she had grown up as a noble lady, until... Things changed. She had had perfectly good reasons not to share the fact, namely that she does not usually share anything, and when she does, it is hardly a story that is viable to cause old wounds to open for her.

Even her heart can be ripped, just like the rest of her. That is why she keeps it under lock and key. A lock that she knows is hard to break, and she should be one to know, and a key she will not place in the hands of just anyone...

"Miss?" In a rare moment of distraction, Eve snaps back to reality without a beat but mentally curses her carelessness. To phase out of the conversation like that, is she going soft? The viscount Druitt is talking to her, and hard as he is to listen to, she must do so considering the (unfortunate) rules of etiquette in place for an occasion like this. "Would you care to join me? I have seats reserved in the front that would of liking to your no doubt impeccable taste."

The lady-dressed-in-red-that-certainly-wishes-she-is-not widens her smile that on the outside make her look like a perfectly charming young lady but in the inside makes her cheeks feel terribly sore, and responds sweetly, "I would love to." But instead of just taking the offered hand, she finds herself swiftly swept into the grip of the viscount as he spins her into his arms as if in a dance, and then proceeds to practically parade his down the aisle, all eyes on her, the man's hand crawling far too down near her waist for her liking. The crowd of people between them and their destination part like the Red Sea as they come, making way for the viscount and the lady on his arm (that very dearly does NOT want to be).

She really hates this person, nearly as much as Grell, even. A flamboyant, self-centered man with absolutely no notion of what a fool he is or in fact, how blatantly he is advertising who he is in the first place (everyone's identities are meant to remain a secret, hence the half masks that conceal the top halves of all the partygoers' faces, but Druitt's personality makes him stand out as a sore thumb regardless) is not someone Eve ever wants to spend time with, ever. And now he is trotting her along like a pig led to slaughter, where she most certainly will be the centre of attention.

_Fuck you Grell._ Is still all she can think right now. _Fuck. You._

After being carefully led to the front as if made of glass, Eve is offered a seat which she takes with a gracious 'thank you' and curtsy, followed by Ronald, who sits behind her. She can only hear him at the moment, with him being a row behind, which makes it all the harder to read his words as he leans forward ever so slightly, and whispers to her with such quietness that only she can hear, "You alright there?"

With equal volume, she mutters as if in a great daze and shivering in disgust at the same time, "I've never felt so violated in my life." Which is sadly true. The places that Aleister had touched still burn with a strange, unnatural coldness. No doubt the effect is psychological, but the fact is little comfort to her.

Chuckling slightly like he is not too sure if he should be, Ronald leans back and stays silent for the next few minutes. The show is about to begin.

The viscount Druitt had, after sending Eve off with an overly flirtatious wink, gone up to the front of the room, where a stage awaited him, to start the auction about to occur. The first cage is already prepared, standing hidden and cloaked by a thick black cloth. (In fact, everything about this room, the underground layer of the mansion, seems to be quite dark; there is little lighting to compensate for the shroud of darkness the night had brought, and it is a little difficult to see. Though Eve can see fine, she is somewhat concerned about other things, such as whether Ronald can as well or if her eyes are glowing in the dark.) Tied up underneath it, everyone knows, is a human being awaiting purchase. More specifically, it is revealed with a dramatic lifting of the cloth, a human being that is barely a grown woman, with rather long blond hair but eyes of an unknown color; she is blindfolded, like no doubt the rest of the auction subjects will be.

"This sweet young lady just recently turned of age." The viscount begins, listing off the girl's qualities. "Her soft skin and enchanting blue eyes would make her the envy of any doll- she would make a wonderful pet..."

Eve does not listen. For all she cares, it is the gossip of old ladies huddled around church celebrating or mourning who knows what. The viscount's words do not matter to her mission. What does matter is finding a way to where ever the cages are stored without being noticed.

While Ronald is meant to merely watch the auction itself and assure the Grim Reaper Association that nothing of particular peculiarity, such as a demon appearance or sudden scythe malfunction, occurs, Eve is meant to reap exactly one soul: that of a kidnapping victim who will, in fifty minutes' time, strangle himself to death.

She gets her opportunity when half an hour later, halfway through the event, everyone is given a short break to socialize once more, and stretch their legs. Discreetly gliding as far away from the viscount as possible as closer to her partner, she eventually asks the blond-brunette if she can have a private word with him, of it is not too much trouble. He grins in return, enjoying her noble lady act far too much in Eve's opinion, and responds, "Of course, my lady. Whatever is it that you wish to talk about?" Despite usually talking in a cockney like accent, rougher and more casual than the voice of the nobles, he pulls off the posh snootiness that sounds like the essence of high society extremely well.

"I'm afraid I have to disappear for a bit; it's rather stuffy in here. I trust you'll keep account of the gossip while I am gone?" Though what the girl says sounds like an innocent walk outside, both of them know what she means: "It's time. Keep an eye on the viscount or anyone who might notice."

The blonde gentleman nods, and passes her off to mingle with a crowd of several young ladies, while Eve sneaks off to the edge of the room where the elevated stage is, and disappears behind a wall from the sight of others.

Well, most of the others.

...

Despite the many whispering layers of fabric on her and her unfortunate choice of shoes, heels that click when treading no matter how softly it is done, Eve manages to sneak into the next room with near silence. Still, she is not as stealthy as she likes, and cringes internally at every squeak and creak of the floorboards of the stage and rusty-hinged door.

However, what little noise she makes seem to mean little when she is finally inside.

The inhabitants of the many cages lining the walls seem rather despondent. The majority of them, having a dead, broken look (one that is familiar to her; when is the last time Eve had looked into a mirror?) etched into their face, hardly move when the lady enters, save for some shivering and begging. Some are dressed in tattered gowns like the ones many a noble lady will wear. Others are hardly covered by rags no doubt gained from the streets.

These are the doomed, Eve acknowledges. Snatched from their homes and shelters, there are humans here that have no other fate than to lay in their iron prisons and wait to have their lives put into the hands of their highest bidder. No one is coming to save them, just like no one had saved her that day when she had been in a cage of her own.

Oh well. The concerns of humans are supposed to be beneath reapers. It is back to business for her.

The business in question is in a cage near the far corner, already in the process of dying. The little boy, tangling poorly tied ropes in an even poorer escape attempt, has looped his bonds around his neck, and pulled too hard until realizing the tight chocker around his neck had been knotted too firmly to undo. Eve steps towards him, taking caution not to be noticed, which is not terribly difficult given the lack of light (it has become increasingly darker the deeper the trainee reaper had delved into the mansion basement) and the pre-existing occupation of his dying. Once close enough to be able to do her job, Eve watches the boy as he dies and get to work.

Summoning the miniature scythe into a gloved hand, and putting on her green-tinted glasses with another, Eve fixes her sights on the child and plunges the weapon, cutting him. The boy's back is facing towards her when she strikes, and if he notices anything, he certainly makes no move to display that. Instead, the reaction Eve gets is the expected: reels of film spill out, lashing wildly, showing her the victim's life through his eyes.

As she watches on, she realizes; this is the brief moment in which this human has a name to her.

"Davis Thompson."

An existence.

"Born November 8th, 1876, died December 14th, 1888 of suffocation."

A life.

"Born and raised in the East end of London. Mother was a prostitute who regularly drank and beat him. Father disappeared when he was young. Was looking for a way to earn a living on his own through small business shining shoes and doing services. Kidnapped when tricked by an offer to earn money. Strangled to death trying to escape."

"No further remarks."

She feels a little empty, truthfully. Seeing what it is like to take a life like this is a great deal different from the mass slaughters she is used to. It is more personal, more meaningful. Something that she needs to take care with, in this human's final moments. Reapers will do this over and over again, but for humans, they only die once, fade away once, and, if they are someone who had gone an entire life with recognition from any fellow human, are acknowledged once; by the very person that stands by, watching them die.

_Is this what _he_ feels like? Empty mourning and sacred…_

Is this what Undertaker feels, whenever he gets a new corpse to prepare for a funeral?

Eve is still trying to find an answer when the records disappear, sucked into the tip of her scythe. Glancing down, she watches as the boy's feeble whimpers die out, and the small spark all humans seem to have in his eyes go out like a blown candle. He is dead, and so, the task is finished.

Her job done, the trainee reaper snaps closed her book and tucks away her glasses. It is time to return to the party, play the act of the perfect noble lady once more, and in a few hours, once the party is finally over, she and Ronald can leave and she will never have to do something like this again.

"Done so soon, my Pheonix?"

At least, that is what had been meant to happen... But several things have gone wrong running their course lately.

Aleister Chambers is waiting for Eve in the doorway, blocking her only way out. How he had gotten there, blocking her only available exit, without her noticing at all is a mystery to Eve, considering that humans are very noisy creatures, the viscount especially, but the more pressing matter is that he had just seen her real the soul of a boy he had been about to sell off.

"N-no!" She scrambles to stand straight and lady-like as she racks her brain for a suitable excuse for her being there. "I just wanted to see-"

"You mean, you wanted sneak into here to fulfill your assignment. Don't bother trying to hide things, Evangeline."

Even when he had first interrupted her, Eve had felt something had been off about the party host, but the moment he says her name, her blood runs cold.

There is a terrifying thought in her head, and she hopes to the Gods that it is not true.

"How do you know my name?" She rasps, hushed and urgent.

Smirking, the viscount moves to remove his mask as he explains himself. "I know the 'who' of what you are just like how I know the 'what'." As he uncovers his face, a change comes over his physical form. Purple eyes burn blood red and slit-pupils, blond hair leaches to crimson, and fangs lengthen themselves and glint in the light of the doorway.

_Oh no._

Oh no no no no no...

By the time she can see his face, Eve is most definitely sure that this is not the viscount Druitt.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten me already?"

This is the vampire Eros Ashworth.

Fear blooms like a poisonous flower in Eve's heart. She steps back, holding her breath to the best of her ability so her chest does not heave in panic and her hands behind her back so they do not tremble, as she tries to bring back her miniature scythe.

What the girl's subconscious knows is that this is not really Eros. Vampires cannot shape shift, and the action itself already tells Eve what this thing is, but on the surface of her mind, she can only think of Eros, and what he had done to her, and of how she is seeing his face again after she had killed him, which sets her quite on edge. As such, she has a bit of trouble accomplishing her plan of action.

The way the doppelganger is advancing towards her, so predatory and hungry, is not helping in the least.

When it gets too close, she manages to get her bearings and lash out, but being so slowed down _(Damn this fear and infernal dress!)_the doppelganger makes short work of the attack, swiping a hand almost lazily to knock her weapon out of her grip and far away, too far away that she can simply reach out and grab it again.

She has more weapons- needles slipped inside her gloves, knives strapped to underneath the folds of her skirt, and she brings these out and uses them too, throwing them at the thing's supposed weak points, but it suddenly decides to be made of mist and the blades nearly quite literally pass through it, so fast that it moves. "You'll find subduing me in a fight much more difficult than last time. I've consumed many more hearts before coming to London." Cocky, self-assured, and incredibly snide, the doppelganger continues to advance at a leisurely pace, watching Eve run out of space to step back into, relishing the sight of its prey squirming like a trapped animal. "Just imagine my surprise when I found you here... As you can guess, it was non-existent, since I've been following you since I found you."

He -it- creeps forward until its body is pressing hers between it and the wall and its hands are encircling her wrists to pin them above her head. True to its word, the monster is a great deal stronger- she tries to push it away, only to be slammed none to gently back- and it knows that, simply standing there and basking in the knowledge. Everyone else present is dead, unconscious, or uncaring of her situation, which they cannot be blamed for since theirs is so bleak in comparison. She will get no help from anyone here. "I could kill you right now..." It purrs, gloating with a sickening smugness, as a gloved hand wraps around Eve's chin and forces her to look directly into her assailant's eyes. "But I won't, not just yet. I'm not done with you, and have a great deal of unfinished business to take care of. Until then, enjoy living like this, knowing I'll be watching..."

In answer, Eve shakes off her daze and sparks a flame in her mouth, spitting it out in the form of a fully-fledged fire. Working its way out of her throat like a dog's bark, the blaze manages to hit this doppelganger in the face, burning the skin momentarily before it heals, or at least, changes to look as if it had healed. The creature hisses and steps back, hand pressing on the wound. "Stubborn, as always." Its voice curdles in its mouth, so sour it is with venom and bitterness. "Well then, I'll have to teach you a lesson about that."

And with those parting words, the doppelganger turns tail and runs, out of the room, out of sight.

But not before she sees it pick up something black and sharp off of the ground.

And not before she can see a scrap of its coat turn from white fabric into a red feather.

"No..." Eve gasps in frustration, running after it. "It wouldn't dare..." That thing does not have the conviction, the audacity, to go and create a massacre, does it? While wearing her face, using her knives...

Her question is answered in the most unfortunately possible of ways as soon as she makes her way to the edge of the stage. The way in which she sees people scrambling among themselves to leave through exits too small to let everyone escape quickly enough. The way, in which she sees Ronald struggling to stay afloat in the raging sea, pushing through crowds and mouthing one name: hers. And the way in which she sees herself, (only it is not really her it a simple copy, but that detail makes little difference to the doppelganger's victims,) striking at random, dealing death like cards at a poker game, and seeming to enjoy every sick second of it.

_Oh no no no no no no NO..._

* * *

**Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo !**

**Cliffhanger :P**


	9. Back to Business (As if you ever left)

**So... You'll probably notice that I'm not updating on the first of the month.**

**To explain: I looked over the rest of the arc and think that the story from now on will flow better with shorter chapters but more frequent updates. I was going to do this changed eventually upon hitting the manga arcs, but now seems like a better time to do this. So yeah. Early update go!**

* * *

She sits there entirely still, completely, perfectly, almost unnaturally still, slumping over in her chair with most of her face shrouded by the shadow of her bangs. The way she waits, as if barely alive, makes her blend in like she is a piece of furniture.

When Ronald walks out of the room adjacent to her to find this, he is rather unnerved. "Hey, are you awake?" He coaxes, hand reaching out, about to gently shake Eve's shoulder in prompt. It only makes it halfway before the girl moves, eyes glowing gently under the fluorescent light as she tilts her head up towards the ceiling, and reveals she is not asleep. The way she sounds, however, when she answers, is rather tired. "Yes." She says, but then yawns before asking, "What did they say?"

The blond keeps talking while his former partner lifts herself up from the chair and works tiny kinks out of her body. "Well, what happened was certainly a mess, but the good news for us is that technically none of it was our fault, since I was just supposed to observe and you reaped your soul successfully. The records will have to be looked through to see what happened, but the great news is we've got no more responsibility about it, unless they decide to tack on more paperwork for some reason."

"I see." Eve says, her voice more melancholy than usual. Eyes drifting down and head hanging low, she seems distracted, almost depressed.

To try and heighten her spirits, Ronald chirps "Oh, cheer up! None of it was your fault, and you've passed you final exam in the end. I can take you to pick out your new glasses, pick up your scythe, and then take you home, how's that sound?"

The girl merely nods, her mood not appearing to improve in the least, but when Ronald offers his arm, she takes it with no complaint.

...

The situation with her new glasses, Ronald explains on the way to the glasses department, is like that of her first pair- because of the unique lenses needed, she is to select a frame first, and when they are ready, pick them up at a later date. The reaper's voice sounds different, echoing off empty halls and ringing with a metallic taste for the ears, isolated but for the sounds of a pair of white Oxford shoes clicking on the tile floor. Eve, as usual, is not making any noise, and many of the other workers in the department are either done working or out with collecting souls.

There is one reaper left in the glasses apartment: Lawrence Anderson, the very legend said to be the crafter of every pair of spectacles each fully fledged soul collector wears, but he is concentrating on his work, barely grunting in acknowledgement of his visitors, and otherwise the two are quite alone.

"Go ahead, take your pick." Ronald offers, gesturing to the frames lining the many shelves.

She looks over the many choices, and immediately points to a frameless pair of glasses with thin, featureless grey matte stems. "There." She murmurs.

"That's it?" Slightly bemused, Ronald shrugs, quite used to the girl's blunt behaviour by now, and decides not to challenge her decision. "Okay then. 'Suppose now all that left to do is get your scythe-"

"Not quite actually."

...

She wants to get it customized.

"As much as the default design is efficient," Eve admits a little while later, sifting through the hefty pad of forms given to her by a secretary on the night shift with a short nap's sleepiness still left in here eyes, "I miss my old one. I can finish this and submit it later, right?"

"What? Oh, right, right." Ronald stumbles verbally, and swings his body upwards from the wall it had been propped up against. "Is that it? Wanna go now?"

"Yes." Perhaps it is the late time or quiet, secluded feel of the air, but Eve's voice is soft and less clipped then usual.

...

"May I ask you something, Eve?" The question pops out of nowhere, like the asker himself is so prone to doing, in the middle of the night. Well, not the middle per se; Eve had arrived back at the funeral parlour at about midnight, and it is now many hours after she had done so.

The girl, who is currently working through a stack of neatly divided stack of paperwork, ponders this thoroughly, lifting her bent head and tilting it, staring off into space. "Only if," She finally decides,"If I can ask you one too. And if you answer. Truthfully."

"You drive a hard bargain," Undertaker chuckles breathily, "But I may as well take the offer. Why did you choose to go back to your old scythe? Surely the kids there have newfangled trends you'd like to make use of. Motors. Multiple blades. Handles." (The last one is a joke, obviously; even the earlier scythes had handles.) He is lounging in an incredibly relaxed fashion in one of his many plush coffins, and with each punctuated sentence ending flails his wide-sleeved arms wilder and wilder until he finally flops onto his back. "From what I've heard from popular opinion, scythes aren't really a preferred form of weapon. Not that I mind, of course~"

Of course, 'of course'; Eve still remembers the statue of the man before him in the library, death weapon curved and poised in all its and his unbelievable (and this is a very big 'unbelievable') glory. "Well," she mentally brushes the thought under an imaginary carpet to try and comprehend the possible existence of later, "You of all people know of the advantages of unpredictability, which the scythe utilizes often, but on a personal note, I trust it." The opinion is absolute. "The scythe was all I had for years, and I'm not one to break habits. I trust it." She repeats, underlining the fact. "And I don't give such a thing so easily."

"Like love?"

"!" If the newly-minted reaper had been eating or drinking anything, she would had choked. As she is not, the girl merely nearly violently gags. In the moment of time when there is completely silence, and nothing happens but Eve's soulless gaping at Undertaker, the larger mass of papers at her side is disturbed by an unseen force and tips over, sending paperwork sliding in several different directions over the floor.

"That's more than one question." Eve sounds strangled when she gain the proper control over her facial muscles needed to speak.

"Then we'll trade two for two." Undertaker is not letting this go; judging by the wicked glee in his face, the way he is crawling over the edge of his coffin (like a giant spider) like a gossiping old woman hungering for new rumours to exploit, he is enjoying this far too much to consider losing the chance. "But I ask again, you don't love very easily, do you? One can only wonder why; most humans and reapers alike are quite liberal with such things."

Watching the reaper seize up gradually, and knowing that he had just ventured into a rather sensitive area of the conversation, Undertaker's voice softens, though it had not been particularly harsh in the first place either. "You don't have to take the bargain, you know." He offers. "I've not so much curiosity in me that I'll pry into matters that you don't want me to."

The corners of Eve's mouth draws back as she tenses and slowly draws backwards, as if about to flee, but after a few seconds of internal conflict that her eyes fail to hide, she ultimately relaxes and chooses to speak.

She does not want to tell him- in fact, she is content to shut her own feelings inside of her for eternity, but Eve knows that to keep such a thing to herself forever is not healthy, and that given the path the relationship between her and the mortician is winding to, she will probably say these words to him eventually. It may as well be now.

"It hurts." The two word confession breaks out in a bleat, but quickly grows and bubbles out of her like water pushing against and trickling through a hole in a dam. "Loving someone else hurts so much, too much. Whenever you think you'll have someone by your side only to have them leave you or worse, it makes me feel sick. It's like I'm torn in half. Giving love freely just... I can't do it. Not anymore. I can't... It's painful, Undertaker." Thinking to the few people close to her, the family and fiancé that had abandoned her, the former lover, if that is what Kain can be described with, that had been using her from the start, the sister that had died because she had been too close to her, tears open a hole in Eve's chest that she had spent the past few years carefully sewing closed, chaining tight, and putting under lock and key. The thoughts wriggle their way into the surface of her conscious much like the way an assassin buries a blade in between a target's ribs, cold and none too pleasant. The hole fills with a sharp sadness that wells inside her and threatens to spill over. "Even more than being alone forever, it hurts."

Undertaker watches as his prompt chips away Eve's armour and reveals the scared little girl she really is, retreating into herself as she curls up into a withering ball with scattered papers at her feet, his smile dimming like a candle fading in the wind. Then he pads over to and wraps his arms around the child, cooing, "There, there... I have to apologize for that, Eve. I wouldn't have pushed if the subject was so hard for you to talk about."

"No." Welcoming the physical contact for once, the girl buries deeper into the warm folds of Undertaker's jacket, her voice slightly muffled. "I would have had to tell you eventually."

"Now why-"

"Because I'm going to fall in love again and it's going to be with you." The words come out in a rush, but there is a pause in which Eve lifts her head out of the fabric and blurts, "I know what I'm like. I try to be independent, and I fail. I'm not nearly strong enough for it." Her most recent encounter with the doppleganger confirms this. "No matter how hard I try. But I never want to be close to people at all, so I latch onto one person, just one, to be my crutch. Before, it was Kain. The night I killed him and you saved me, it became you. That's what I do." After this declaration, her voice becomes a great deal more quieter and self-loathing. "Always needing someone by my side to feed off of- it's a pitiful way to live."

"Not at all, actually." Sensing the distress, Undertaker runs a hand through the girl's hair. "We're sociable creatures. It's difficult to be truly alone for any amount of time. To want someone with you," His embrace tightens just enough to rustle the chain of pockets hung perennially on his person, "Is completely natural."

"...What would you say if I asked you to be that person? Would you hate me?"

"Oh." That wry grin of his returns, quick as a flash. "Does that count as the answers to your questions?"

A nod.

With the way she is now, so vulnerable and soft and open, Undertaker feels that a straight answer is appropriate for once, so he gives her exactly that- at least, as much as one a kiss can be.

The taste surprises her. Though she had expected something sugary, her lips are met with the flavour of honey and darker chocolate; and while still sweet, it is more mellow and melancholy than she had thought it would be.

"Ah..." The gasp rushes out from Eve's ribcage before she can even register it when the chaste contact of her lips against his is over. "That was sudden."

"Feeling better?" Undertaker grins cheekily and prods her in the face with a fingernail, ending the brief moment of comfort and intimacy just as quickly as he had initiated it.

Feeling? What is Eve feeling at the moment anyways? She had spent so long being pushed along by the flow of time and the events of her life passing by that she had never taken the time to asses herself. For so long the girl had been dead to the world, mind drowning in numb distance from the outside, but now, she realizes.

"Yes, I do."

There is a stirring in her chest, but instead of aching tears, there is a shining warmth, like a newly birthed star.

"I truly do."

...

The paperwork for the scythe comes through rather quickly, at least, according to Ronald, with more haste than usual, even compared to when he had filled in the forms necessary for his own scythe's customization and used a favour from a friend working in General affairs. (Though she wants to think that this is perfectly normal, it is most likely that a certain former legendary reaper had pulled some strings or threatened a few of the right people, possibly both.) As such, she is able to collect it soon after picking up her newest pair of spectacles, and by noon she is reunited with her old scythe. Or at least, a copy of it.

Even given the fact that it is a mere imitation, Eve must admit that her now-customized death scythe looks remarkably similar to the very weapon she had been forced to give up upon beginning training to become a reaper; The smooth texture of the shaft, the cut of the blade, the matte black sheen that reflects with no light, pitch black even when viewed through the green film of her glasses, are all the same as how she remembers it. Only on the end of the weapon that does not have two and a half foot long blade attached to it is there a slight difference from before: a low relief carving of the words "DEATH SCYTHE" is emblazoned down one side.

"Wooow." Felicia has stars in her eyes as they shine in awe of the presence of sleek blade. "I knew you could customize a death scythe, but I never guessed they could look like that! That's so cool!"

The death weapon's owner then casts her eyes upon her, rolling to the far right from their angle towards the curved structure and the ceiling that is serving as its background. "Do you need something?" It is not an unkind question, but not exactly brimming to the edge with friendliness and acceptance, either. Truth be told, Eve no longer sees why the petite redhead has anymore reason to speak to her.

"Oh!" As if remembering something important to her in the span of two seconds, Felicia perks upward, alert. "I wanted to say congratulations for passing your final exam! So," with this, she thrusts a carefully fabric-wrapped box towards the sitting girl, standing on tiptoe to prove her point of eagerness, "Please accept this!"

Without even knowing what it is, Eve feels obliged to do so, but still asks "What is it?" Even as she takes the box by the knot on top with one hand. It does not feel particularly heavy, but still swings from her limb with a weight.

"It's sushi!" The little Lolita gleefully chirps."A whole set too, I promise it's really delicious! Actually," She admits with a sheepish smile, "It's from everyone else in the class, but they were all busy with something, so I was the only one left to give to you. Anyways, I hope you like it! Bye!" And with those parting words, Felicia turns around and skips away, humming as she goes, leaving behind a slightly bewildered Eve.

Everyone in the class? Is that completely accurate? She wonders, recalling those she hardly talked to or did and then did not get onto good terms with, one ponytailed blond especially. I find with hard to believe.

Still, this looks good. Eve thinks with approval when she opening the box itself, lavished with paper fans and gold symbols as decoration, to reveal neat rows of wrapped rice and various fish with seaweed. One row looks like a rainbow, each piece paired with a correspond coloured food. She plucks out a roll and pops it into her mouth, pleasantly surprised by the taste of soft fresh fish and slight tang of sea salt. Tastes good too. It does not take her long to finish, but she enjoys every morsel.

Huh. The reaper contemplates when she is done, leaning back along the bench, head towards the sky, scythe by her side. A friend by my side, a weapon in my hand, and free food in my stomach. She lists her newest and most precious possession. For once, I can't find anything to complain about at the moment.

Alas, her good mood is regrettably spoiled by one William T. Spears, who soon after approaches her with swift measured strides and declares to her, adjusting his spectacles simultaneously, "Miss Britford, you are to come with me. There is an irregularity with your latest assignment."

Ah, there it is.

...

"Are you familiar with these people?" Eve and William are the only two in the room, but this all the more makes this feel like an interrogation for a crime she may well be guilty for, set as they are dead against each other, William facing the door, his suspect in her chair. The senior reaper slides a glossy embossed sheet adorned with several faces, blank and neutral in expression and liveliness, across the table. "Do any of these look familiar to you?"

The girl to give but a glance, a fleeting one where after her eyes flicker back to the man standing before her, to find an answer. "Yes. They were at the party last night." She remembers those humans, albeit vaguely. Some had been ladies, some lords. They blend together for her; none hold any particular significance, but yes, she recognizes every one.

"They also had partial cinematic records depicting you killing them." William adds. He is pacing now, hands clasped behind his back, his ever-serious face pinched to look slightly more serious than usual. "Killing souls not on the death list is quite an offence, especially for a newcomer." 'Especially for an outsider' are the words he appears to want to say. "You better have an explanation for this, lest you wish to be demoted." The man does not need to mention her rank for her to know that being demoted at this stage is the equivalent of going back to being a trainee.

Despite the grave situation at hand, which Eve alone knows but is not about to tell anyone about since it only concerns her, and maybe Undertaker, the newly-minted reaper remains as calm as a lake surface on a windless day, and explains clinically, clearly, "Simple. that wasn't me."

She then proceeds to tell her superior of the concept of doppelgängers, of how this particular one no doubt wanted to cause trouble, mischievous beings as they are, and took her shape to cause great ruckus, not expecting William to listen to her talk of mythical creatures and pranks that involve killing countless humans and framing innocent reapers and believe her in the slightest.

He does not believe her in the slightest.

"Given the evidence, we will look into it." William states in that stiff way he has when he is displeased. "But should we find no records proving such, you will need to prove your innocence in some other way."

"Yes sir." She complies. Eve dislikes constantly having to go through the motions of murder, accusations, and finding evidence of innocence, but at least William is letting her leave now, and she has time to let her mind and legs wander and find a solution to her issue.

The problem had been hanging over her like a cloud, but she had long since known that she has limited time before she will be struck by lightning. Regardless, it is not the business of William T. Spears. Or Ronald Knox, try as he might to pry any information out of her after no doubt noticing something wrong what with his acute sensitivity to the state of others. And not of Felicia, or whatever few of her former classmates may find out that something is amiss. No, this issue is hers to deal with an hers alone. They have no requirement to know of her personal feud with the doppleganger. They certainly do not have to be enlightened to the fact that it has grown abnormally strong, much faster than the usual rates. And Eve most definitely will not tell a single one of those people that it may well try to kill her.

* * *

**Fluff fluff fluff! I actually wrote some, holy crap. I'm incredibly squeamish about anything like romance, so for me to actually write it... Feels really weird.**

**FEEL THE FEELS. ESPECIALLY THE WEIRD ONES!**


	10. Completely Normal

**FUCK.**

**JUST. FUCK.**

**I seriously think this ship's floated away from me.**

**I mean- the entire first half of this chapter? Never was supposed to happen. It's going too fast, what do I do?! Before I know it I'm gonna have Sebastian on Ciel and Grell on William and this fic will turn into those PWP _things_ I see and shudder to do so.**

**Well, enjoy the fluff.**

* * *

"It may well try to kill me." The girl finishes her tale and then sips delicately on her tea, a remarkable feat given the thick clunking glass of her beaker.

With equal lightheartedness, Undertaker simply nods and simply resumes munching on his cookie, having no trouble whatsoever absorbing all that his guest had said. He had long since adjusted to the routine of listening to certain snippets of Eve's day, though frequently interrupting her monologues with random outbursts of laughter and poking questions that often prod the train of conversation off it's rails, and then offering his inquiries and sagely, experienced, usually useless advice, is never below him. Today, he decides, the former is more appropriate. Gulping down his biscuit with relish, he chases it down with a slurp of earl grey. "Not worried at all about this, are you? How unlike your usual behaviour..." The words creep from his mouth like a hiss from a snake, his voice gaining a slightly more serious and dark quality to it. Nether the less, he is still teasing rather vehemently; the leering, unconcerned grin and cheery gesture of his hand on his chin is testament to that.

"No, I'm not." Eve replies, evenly, calmly, being her beaker to her lips once more. "It already came for me once, I already know what will happen. Doppelgängers torment their targets through impersonations and hauntings, but this time, I'll be ready." As one of her hands lower her tea to her lap, so does her other arm, down to the scythe that she had been sharpening (before Undertaker have her the offer of a break of tea and cookies, which she decided to accept) and stroking it absent-mindedly. "It will come, we will fight, and I will win. I'm sure of it."

"My, my, all by yourself? You seem quite confident of that."

"I do. If I want to truly combat it's tactics, I need to adopt a different mentality, it's no use growing paranoid from now on." Knowing the enemy's strategy is but part of the battle, and, Eve had told herself back when she had been hurrying through those stark white halls to get back to Undertaker, perhaps changing her way of thinking to suit that is the next. A pinch more of optimism and grain of friendliness may just nudge her position enough to avoid the strife or torment the doppleganger is no doubt planning. "A defence mechanism, you see. Besides, I have you, don't I?"

"Why, I'm flattered!"

"... That won't convince you to train me tomorrow, will it?"

"Not quite, no."

"Damn." Puffing slightly with disappointment, Eve admits mentally admits defeat for the third instance she had tried cajoling the mortician to return one more time to the Reaper Association in the past half hour. "Well, I got closer. Are you sure you don't want to come? I'm sure if Mister Spears finds out he'll set up a tea table just for you. Imagine! Free tea!"

"Now, now." Undertaker wags his taloned finger teasingly at the girl. "I only ever take one thing for payment, and you know it. Any other kind of currency is worth quite little in comparison."

And then, as the mortician is chastising her with a thin veil of merriness and cheer, Eve thinks of something.

Something daring and almost wholly unimaginable of her, (almost,) but she thinks it anyway, and in a spur of the moment decision, goes ahead with it, because why not, if she is trying to become different than who she usually is anyways, even though what she finds out from this may be way less than what she had wants, or expects, or hopes for.

"Is it really laughter you're looking for?" She finds herself asking with scrutiny, her voice somewhat mimicking how the other reaper's had changed earlier, becoming lower, curious, more breath-filled. Slowly, she rises from her seat stretching like a cat, relaxed but alert, and creeps towards the mortician. "Or the illusion of happiness it offers you?" She watches as the poignant question seems to wipe the smile right off his face, and listens for an answer that does not come. Bit by bit, she closes in, and neither party makes any move to stop what is happening.

Even though they are her words slipping from her lips like silk smoothing over a finger's touch, her slow impromptu actions that are gradually bringing the two of them closer and closer, her legs that are straddling him at the hips and her arms that are draped over his shoulders, Eve is the one with the slightly catching breath and steadily rising heartbeat. She is actually doing this, touching and, dare she say, tempting the one person who she will probably ever consider being so close to for the rest of her life. She is going to offer this person the one thing she does not want to just to see if he will take it despite that.

She is about to see whether she can truly trust him.

"If that's what you're truly looking for," She offers, "I can try paying you a different way."  
By this point Eve is leaning right over him, their faces hovering inches away from another. Undertaker does not smile, nor move, save for the slight narrowing of his eyelids and soft movement of his mouth as the female before him presses hers against it. The contact of flesh and teeth is drastically different from the last one they had shared: more hot like the coals of a fire, just on the edge of smouldering and building into flame, and intimate with the pressure of one holding a person they never want to let go.

"You really have changed." He murmurs when they break apart, easily heard over the soft sound of breathing and rustling fabric as Eve rocks their hips together slightly and threads her fingers through his hair, drawing it back. "And so quick..."

The girl looks intently in his eyes, bright and alert, as she replies airily, "That's what I'm aiming for." She interjects a slight pause as what she is about to say sinks into her brain, as if coming to terms with the fact that she is finally confirming it in her own mind. "Changing. Leave my old self behind, and my old demons with them." Even though they both know at this pace, Eve is moving too fast. The question is, is Undertaker willing to slow her down...? "This is a possible start."

"But are you sure about what you're saying here, Eve?" Undertaker's two-toned gaze is held attentively with Eve's, heavy lidded with curiosity, as he draws up his own hands to frame the girl's face. That rougher, almost seductive hiss of his returns, but without any humorous smile to offset it, the mortician now sounds genuinely dark and brooding. "Offering up such a thing for payment." The last sentence sounds quite like a question, but is a little bit closer to a statement in tone.

"No." She admits, thinking of exactly what she had said. In retrospect, the very thought makes her skin crawl with imaginary parasites digging under her skin, (she is not ready) and her chest aches with thoughts of Kain, (she is not ready) but... "But... I'm prepared for whatever you do."

(Though really, she is not.)

"And if it's you, I won't mind, so much." Forehead nearly touching Undertaker's, the girl talks with a resolution she is determined to (appear to) possess. (Even though she is. Not. Ready.)

A thick silence fills the room like a gas; Eve can almost feel herself breathing it in, sense the tingle of it vining up her spine, but all the same she is almost painfully aware of Undertaker running his fingers along her jaw and neck, in the way one will absentmindedly fiddle with an object while thinking, and the unwavering stare that she can tell is concealing emotion he is barely hiding; conflict and desire and a strange sense of curiosity. She feels like the latter is boring straight through her, rattling skull and bones as it pierces through her with a shiver.

A part of her fears what might happen next, a second part, more well-hidden and locked away, knows that, in a sickening way, she will enjoy it despite the trauma she had received the last time she had been touched like anything remotely like this. Either way, Eve knows, she will not back out of what she had gotten herself into now. She had never initiated a plan without the intention to follow it through, and actually doing so, and the reaper sees no reason for her to start now. Whatever happens next is up to Undertaker to decide, and she will follow, no matter what. Such is the tie she had made in her mind between the two. A bond that she is about to deduce the nature of, whether she likes what she finds out or not.

When he finally speaks, and makes his choice known, however, Eve cannot help but mentally sigh with relief. "Then," The green-eyed reaper merely draws her in for a third kiss, the most chaste one yet, and announces, "I suppose this will be enough for now."

_That's it?_

The response is far less than Eve had expected, and she is momentarily taken aback.

She had offered all...

And he had taken next to none.

"That's it?"

She voices her opinion this time, forcing it out before it can catch on her throat and cause it to crack.

"Mmmm." Undertaker hums in agreement. "Don't think I don't know what you're trying here." A teasing grin splits his face once more, but quickly melts into a gentle smile. "Rest assured, this," he gestures by tapping the girl's hips, making her fight a blush, "Is not the price of companionship. Not it you do not wish it to be."

"...then what is?"

"As much as you want to give." Is the answer, simple, yet so much more complicated, as that.

_So he knew already..._ Eve thinks, not sure whether to be surprised or the exact opposite. _How much of me can he anticipate?_

_..._

_Ah, fuck it._

_I _have_ him._

_I have him, and I can trust him, and that's good enough for me._

"Thank you."

...

With the mortician's eventual agreement to return once more to the Grim Reaper Association, Eve and Undertaker leave early the next day (with the retired reaper taking a moment to post a quick note on his door, saying that he is out for the moment and would any customers with any dead bodies needing to be buried please take them to the nearest other funeral director in town, even though they aren't nearly as good at making coffins,) to do a bit of practical training before Eve's shift officially starts. Never mind that she had of course triple-aced the practical portion of her exam, Undertaker snickers, there are some things one simply cannot learn from a stuffy moody textbook or quick practical session.

"Or, regrettably," He adds, "From thrashing trainees to bits."

Eve, who does not find this particularly amusing, tries to smile and laugh anyways to see if doing so would work like it does the other way around, and help her see the humour in it, but stops when her cheeks hurt as she tries too hard. Becoming a more pleasant, happier person, she reminds herself, is possibly one of the biggest challenges she has ever faced, so she should, in her best interests of not popping a brain vessel or injuring a facial muscle, attempt taking it slow. She will learn to laugh again one day, she knows. After all, she has an expert of laughter right at her side.

Battles, given the more formal and proper moniker of 'duels' when requested for officially in paperwork, can be set at any time and place, and against any number of people, but are usually coupled with certain restrictions. First, they cannot take place during working hours (a given) or any place where the resulting scuffle may interrupt the work of others (also very obvious, though some more unruly types of workers may goad others by accidentally-on-purposely involving them directly in fights. However, this rarely happens, since when it does all parties caught are usually given a hefty dose of paperwork to cure their over active behaviour.) Second, the ensuing fight cannot result in the lasting injury of any party, participating or otherwise; practical one on one - or one on two or one on three if that one is feeling particularly suicidal that day - is meant to be used to exercise or educate only. Third, any duel, before it can take place, must be requested and confirmed by the participators and then someone from General Affairs respectively.

These stipulations, the last one especially as it does not take more of a wave of Undertaker's hand (to many of the other reapers, his hand may well be a wand, one swish through the air and he can do magic!) for the flustered and glasses-polishing girl from the stall the two had gone to to stamp her approval seal on the flimsy pages that had been prepared only moments before, are not too hard for Eve and Undertaker to fill, and thus they find themselves, still quite early in the morning, on the rooftop. Incidentally, it so just so happens it is the same one Eve had taken the practical portion of her exam on, though it is not quite an incident or coincidence- after all, she had chosen this location precisely because she had been and fought here before.

Of course, the fourth rule is that while the challenger picks the time and place, it is the challenged that get to choose the weapon. "What will it be then?" Swords? A bow and arrow? She has throwing knives and daggers at her disposal, but Undertaker's tendency to enjoy setting up odd situations and watching people squirm through them tells her it will not be so simple.

The answer comes in the form of a flat thin board of wood, drawn from the fabric on Undertaker's sleeves with a flourish. "Here you go, luv." He giggles, as he tosses the stick towards her.

Catching it and gripping it between her fingers, Eve recognizes the board as one of the ones lying around the funeral parlour, decorated with carvings and foreign characters of thick black brush strokes done by a careful hand. "What is it, exactly?" She wonders aloud, for though she has seen the thing, or at least identical copies of it before, the reaper had never actually known anything else about such an odd piece of wood.

"A sotoba. A grave marker used by the Japanese." Undertaker explains as he wanders about the rooftop, as if distracted. "But that's enough talk, now shall we?" Now a good ten feet from his protégée thanks to his meandering, he beckons with a flap of fingers and a tugging smirk. He is unarmed and silently offering Eve the first move.

Right, Eve agrees. It is no longer the time for words.

Just the blur of limbs and wood as she strikes, sotoba at her side and ready to arc at the silver-haired man like a bat. The move is sudden and direct, but she plans to change that, knowing he will be ready with something. And so, just before the wood is supposed to make contact, she pulls a feint and jerks to the side, planting in her foot and digging it into the ground so she can use the momentum to stab the Sotoba into Undertaker's side.

Undertaker watches the girl come after him with a knowing smile on his face.

Then he draws his own board from the folds of his robe and splits the offending object right down the middle, pointed end piercing pointed end.

Then another one which he pretends to jab towards Eve's neck, causing her to leap backwards and skid, only to tense and frown as she realizes the trick. She is the one without a weapon now, and had given up her opportunity to snatch another one from Undertaker while she had been close enough.

Then yet another one that he tosses back to the student, laughing. This time around, the reaper knows, she will not be the first to make a move. Of course, that simply gives him more time to decide exactly how he will play with the girl. He is not about to 'help' her without having some fun for himself after all. "You should remember: three strikes and it's out for you! That's one right there, in case you didn't know~!" He takes the time to remind his student, eyes twinkling from underneath their canopy fringe.

"That's not particularly fair, is it?" Eve points out, Sotoba poised like a sword at the ready, eyes wary of her opponent. "Two against one, and all that."

Slinging a board over his shoulder, Undertaker points his other grave marker at the girl in good jest. "Ah, should've thought about that before asking me for help, didn't you? I'm not one to go easy on everyone... Especially since I gave you such a discount on this. You should owe me a laugh." He chuckles with taunting glee in his hidden eyes.

"...You're going to make me pay for it either way, aren't you?" Sagging slightly, Eve mumbles this with a slightly numb-sounding horror, like someone who had just realized that a terrible relative is coming to visit them for an absurdly long period of time, and then complained about only to sense that very person standing behind them.

There is just a breath's width between when he responds verbally and physically. "Why, yes. Yes I am." Taking advantage of a ledge, and the increased height, the legendary reaper runs along it towards his victim/student. She sees him coming, and attempts to ram him off the edge of the building, but he leaps from the edge, almost floats, and instead of a solid body, the girl meets contact with only air, and her momentum ends up pushing her through it to the point where she would have met with much more empty, resistance-less air plummeting downwards, if she had not been pulled back.

The pressure of the front of her collar chokes her for a moment as its back is suddenly gripped and wrenched backwards, but she certainly is not distracted by it enough to let go of her one chance for victory, or look away from the one who means her defeat. "Don't think you're getting off so easy." Undertaker purrs, as he smacks Eve's board out of her grip and up, up, into the air she had nearly escaped into, stalking towards her, pushing her towards the centre of the roof.

For a few brief beats, the two look like a couple in tango, stepping this way and that rhythmically in close contact with each other, almost in a sensual embrace but for the wood jammed beneath the girl's chin, pressing in. This does not last long, though, as Eve catches her now falling sotoba from above and brings it down, hard, on the one forcing her head upwards, and then scrambles for cover.

As he closes in, the lunge becomes a sword strike, and Eve moves quickly, tilting her body to the left, hands tightly gripping her weapon, arms outstretched, to parry the blunt wood blow. An instance after this a second swing arcs towards her, and she bends back, 'sword' still at the ready. A barrage begins of stabs and jabs, which Eve half blocks, half endures half the time, until she manages to stop two simultaneous thrusts by holding her own weapon perpendicular to Undertaker's, and turn the whole lot to ashes with the fire that licks off her palms. "One." She says, of Undertaker's first 'strike', as she gestures to the black smears on the ground.

A tight smile. "Two." He shoots back, grinning like a Wonderland cat as he waves to the dust disintegrating in her palms. Eve draws the thin line of her mouth back, forced to acknowledge this. _So apparently, he does not count two at a time as two separate strikes..._

"Well then," Her mentor says, drawing from his apparently endless supply of grave markers (and Eve thought she had been good at hiding so many on her person- does he usually keep so many on him?) and tossing a single sotoba towards her. "Ladies first." He acknowledges, then reaches for a board of his own.

This time, Eve does not wait to let him do so, and strikes, cobra-fast, in a slice across his chest as soon as she sees the flash of smooth painted-on wood. The clash disarms Undertaker, and now his sotoba is the one sent flying. All she has to do to level his advantage over her is reach out and grab it, then burn it away, but as she looks skywards something else catches her eye: the unmistakable glint of burnished metal glinting in the sun. The mortician's lockets are suspended in the air for a brief moment, before plummeting right into Eve's open hand.

Disoriented by the shine, the girl looks on the trinket, the panels of glass showing off twists of hair, the thin but sturdy feeling chain weaving between her fingers. It feels warm, having been safely tucked close to Undertaker but moments ago. _What is this?_ She wonders, but the question only last for a second before evaporating, as Eve is knocked without warning to the ground.

The mortician, who had just snatched his sotoba from the air and used it to sweep his student from behind the knees, moves to pin her down with his own body and wrest her own weapon from her hand. "Three." He hisses, as he snaps it in half with a splinter and shatter, smiling a smile that does not look like his usual one. It looks more dangerous, intimidating. "I think that's enough for the time being. Now, if I could have that back...?"

Eve blinks, having just registered her body making harsh contact with the roof, and the weight of her mentor on top of her, breathes in deep to catch her breath, blinks as if just waking up from a sleepwalk, and then realizes Undertaker's request. She fulfills it without complaint; the way he had said it gave her no reason to do otherwise.

"Thank you." He quips, suddenly back to his normal self. Lifting himself up and adjusting his hat, which had become dishevelled, he makes no indication of his momentarily change of attitude. "Let's go have some tea, shall we?"

"..." _That was odd_. The girl cannot help but think back on when she had just been forced to the floor a few moments ago. Such a thing had seed entirely out of character for Undertaker. However, in spite of this, the flash his eyes and dip of his snarl had lasted no more than heartbeat, no more memorable than a dream, so she soon shrugs it off and agrees. "Let's."

* * *

**So. The next few chapters... Well, I don't know if I can pull them off. We'll see.**


	11. Completely Normal?

**Another half month down, four and a half months of school left.**

**Gawwwwd, I miss my free time. D;**

**Eventually I'll pick up the plot for for now, meeeh, watch Eve awkwardly navigate a conversation. Damn, she's inconsistent when trying to be social, I don't know whether or not it makes it easier or harder to write. If you cringe while reading this, I did my job right.**

* * *

Once upon a time, a long long ways ago, back when Eve had been a child like any other, innocent and blissful in ignorance before the world takes it upon itself to change (decimate/destroy/desecrate) everything, her mother and father had taken her to see a play. It had been a simple piece of entertainment, about a boy who puts on a mask so he can blend in and dance with the fairies at night, escaping from his controlling parents who rule his life in the day. About a boy who had shared a forbidden love with one of the magical beings, but is never found out, thank goodness for that as he would had been killed, because eventually the covering and enchanted wings he had used to disguise himself moulds into his own face via a magic spell. About a boy who became the very facade he had been wearing through sheer will and use, and thus took for himself a happily ever after, living as a fairy until the end of his days.

It had been a breathtaking sight for her as a child, albeit a peculiar one, and the idea of becoming something else by acting like it, becoming so much like it that one simply has to turn into what they impersonate, had stuck with her. Reach the a level of imitation beyond what any mask can do, and you can change into an entirely different person.

Change into an entirely different person, and you are safe from the monsters of your old life.

It is this logic Eve applies to her own behaviour today, when settling down at a table for a quick spot of tea (not as good as Undertaker's, but it is Earl Grey and sweet enough, she supposes) before the time comes for her to clock in and officially start her work day, namely, starting when a certain red-headed reaper in training catches her eye on Eve and bounces over to her empty table, breaking from a much larger herd of her peers to visit the lonely girl sitting all by herself.

"Hey!" She smiles, bright as a crimson sun. "How's it going?"

Eve tries to mirror the look on Felicia's face, but for some reason her expression feels stiff. Despite this, she manages a smile too. "Fine. Better. I have tea." Without noticing, something obvious slips out her mouth and she immediately feels stupid for saying it. Thankfully, though, Felicia does not seem to mind, so she goes with the track the conversation eventually digs out.

"Really?"

"Yes. Tea is nice."

A giggle. So saying such strange things is funny to her? "Sure is. Especially with sugar. And milk. At night. And in the morning. How was your morning?"

"Good." She says, for lack of a better word. To add a bit more to her response, Eve tacks on, "I was just doing a bit of training, is all."

"Really? How was it?"

By this point of the conversation, Eve usually turns away and duly ignores whoever is talking, not wanting any more contact with other people, but this times she struggles to answer and so says, a little quieter than usual, "Fine. Well, I suppose; I was beaten pretty quickly."

"How fast?"

A quick estimate in her head. "Five minutes."

"Ouch, really?" Getting more and more casual, Felicia leans in and offers, "You know, if you want... You can practice with me and the others sometimes too."

The proposition startles Eve, who is about to take a sip of tea but stops, eye brows raised. "Really?" After the literal curb-stomp battle she had dominated against her former classmates, she had not expected to get any kind of invitation to do such a thing anytime soon.

"Sure!" Oblivious to this, the Lolita girl grins excitedly. "We've learned a lot of stuff since you graduated, you know. And even if you're our Sempai, or maybe we're yours 'cos we've been here longer and I never really figured that stuff out, we were still classmates, right? Not everyone thinks so I guess, but let's help each other out, okay?"

"...okay." Eve responds, nodding her head eagerly.

More sunshiny smiles as Felicia turns to leave. "Great! I'll tell the rest of the class, they'll give you a chance, I promise! Anyways, I'm gonna go, so see you later! It was nice talking to you!"

Taken aback by the warmth the girl exuded, (how could she had not noticed it before?) Eve sits there, a little dazed, until she snaps out of her stupor and manages a crackly-feeling smile. "You as well- um, you too."

And with that and an enthusiastic wave, Felicia departs, and Eve is left wondering what had happened. Did I just carry a whole conversation just now?

Apparently the answer is yes.

Apparently, according to the poorly stifled giggles drifting from underneath the tabletop, the answer is a very hilarious 'yes'.

Upon being reminded of Undertaker's existence, the girl draws her head backward as raises an eyebrow at the reaper crouched at her feet, practically lounging on her lap like a cat. "You can come out from there, you know." She says to the man who had dived under the table for unexplained reasons just before Felicia had caught sight of him, or anyone else for that matter.

"I knooow." He muffles a laugh into a sleeve, tilting his head up as far as he can without disturbing his top hat to stare up at Eve. "But I'm rather comfortable down here."

"Why do that anyways?" She inquires in suspicion. Undertaker is regarded in high respects, but he does not have the kind of popularity that makes throngs of people flock around him, his personality can more than assure that. (And just as well; Eve and she assumes Undertaker both enjoy the company of few to many.) "I could have used some help just now." She verbally pouts.

"Did you really? Or perhaps you were just nervous." Comes the sniggering reply.

The girl mutters. "Would have been nice to have someone else here to draw the attention to."

Another laugh bubbles from the silveret, significantly louder this time. "Feeling bashful, Eve?" He teases, hands drawing up her legs as he peeks out from under the counter edge with a huge grin in his face that he chooses that exact moment to practically stuff into hers. "You were shy! How darling! you know, it's when you act so out of sorts that you really are at your cuuutest!" Little floating hearts appear as Undertaker puts his hand together in a pose of (mocking) adoration, grinning profusely at the flustered state he know Eve will be in.

"!" The girl, having the poor timing to be drinking from her cup just as he says this, just barely avoids choking and jumps, or at least lurches, backwards as far as she can, face reddening slightly. "I'm going to go to work now." She says, talking a little faster than usual, tearing herself away from Undertaker's reaching hands and standing up from her seat, leaving an awkward conversation and a giggling funeral director behind. As she turns away, she hangs her head low, lest anyone see that her cheeks have bloomed a pale pink on her white face.

**...**

_It wasn't supposed to end this way! _Henry Webster shrieks internally as he runs for his life through the halls of the brothel, trying his damn hardest not to trip on any dead bodies. Of all the ways in the world to die, he had never imagined he would ever be shot to death in the crossfire of two feuding mafia families. The risk of such a thing happening is nearly absurd when he thinks about it; he works as a tailor with absolutely no black market connections. He gets by on a meagre profit and has never once borrowed money from a loan shark. He never gets involved with trafficking or assassination or anything remotely illegal. Anything! Yes, he does occasionally cheat on his wife (And even then he is not sure that even counts, since both of them know they share an arranged, loveless marriage and he is rather sure Elena is having an affair with the butcher across the street anyways), but aside from that, he is an innocent man.

He had never imagined to die this way. But then again, he had never thought he would ever happen to be visiting a brothel while a scuffle happened just inside the doors, or that the scuffle would involve mass trafficking and two goddamn MAFIA FAMILES or that those two MAFIA FAMILIES would ever start a gunfight (They are the mafia! They have revolvers and knives and everything!) right inside the building, effectively turning it into their own battleground.

No, the thought had not once ever occurred to him that such a thing had even been possible, for normal, average, sometimes-unfaithful Henry- until he had heard the initial gunshots and seen a man burst through a door and shoot a couple more rounds and he finally snapped out of his stupor and tried finding the way out in the steadily growing confusion. He had never thought such a thing possible, and even now, with proof of its very unignorable possibleness he still is not thinking, having no space in his head for words, except _It wasn't supposed to end this way! and Run! Run! Run!_

He is still sprinting, over warm bodies still twitching and spurting blood from bullet wounds and away from as many corners as he can where he hears yelling, some in foreign languages he cannot comprehend, and down stairs and through halls, when he bumps into her, or more specifically crashes, and is blown backwards by the resulting impact.

The first thing to pop into his head as he raises it to look up at her is _Strange_. It is most definitely a female he had just crashed into; the figure and long hair and face allude to that, but women do not wear pants and certainly cannot stay standing after a grown man literally runs into them at full speed. At least, not normal, self-respecting women who expect not to be alienized by the public. Nor do they carry scythes, especially black wicked-looking ones that do not appear to cast any reflection whatsoever, despite the ample sunlight streaming in through the many (mostly broken by now) windows.

Short-circuiting temporarily, Henry's mind draws a blank as it struggles to register the odd sight, and when it does come online, all he can do for a few seconds is slowly pull himself onto his feet, limbs shaking and unsure of themselves, eyes still stuck of the girl (?) while the one word "...wh... Whore...?" (Which had originally been intended to come out as "who're", as in, "Who're you?" but became rather muddled while traveling from Henry's brain to his mouth, though what with the current setting of this encounter, what he had thought and said could had both been valid questions either way) Drags itself out of his mouth.

With a nonchalant push of a finger, the strange girl adjusts a pair of green (why green?) spectacles sitting atop her nose, which Henry had just noticed were even there. From a book held in one gloved hand, she looks at Henry, before saying, as if the fact that she had just been in a collision had come to her attention, and that it was not a particularly serious matter to her, and maybe it is not, considering that she seems to be in perfect condition anyways, "Oh."

Then she makes the book vaporize into thin air, which immediately raises another alarm of many ringing in Henry's head, (such as the 'female wearing trousers- DOES NOT COMPUTE' one, for a single example) and hurtles herself headlong into him, sending Henry's eyes shooting wide open but not her bouncing off the man, instead sliding him across the floor to the subsequent wall.

With a swoosh and a yell and a bang, the ringing in Henry's ears intensify as a stray bullet hits his neck, and then cut off in silence as he loses his hearing, sight, and eventually consciousness completely, the last thing he sees being the girl, approaching him from above like the grim reaper, curved blade and handle in hand...

...

"Henry Webster, died of suffocation."

"Sylvia, no last name known, died of blood loss."

"Samuelson Azzuro, died of head trauma."

Her scythe is brought down on the fading lives, their records flashing, and one by one, Eve catalogues them all and ferries their soul to their final destination, as she had been trained and practiced to do. The number of lost lives are many; such is always the outcome when a scuffle is instigated between two large antagonistic groups, each equipped with weapons like guns and muscles that are trained to kill, but eventually she collects them all, finishing the last of them on the roof.

"Whelp, that's the last of them." Ronald, having been paired with her for the assignment given her green status (and the fact that, while mostly kept under wraps, the attack of a certain female trainee had left the entire association on its toes for the time being when it comes to safety), strolls into view, stretching several kinks out of his arms. "How's your side doing?" He asks Eve with a nonchalant attempt to start a conversation.

"Good." The girl responds, before adding, "I'll be done when I mark these last ones here."

"Good." Ronald repeats the word, agreeing about the matter of hand, but quickly goes off on a tangent concerning one of his many going-outs. "By the way, when your shift is done, and feel free to say no since knowing you you're probably already busy, but a couple of the girls from general affairs and SMS guys from collections and I were planning to on a group date in London. I never really showed you around properly-"

"Okay."

It takes the blond-brunette a while to catch wind of what Eve had just said. "Really? Oh, that's fine, I was just wondering if by any chance you said what now?"

"I said okay." Eve shrugs verbally. "Haven't got anything else to do, I think. Besides, I could use a tour of the city on my own time without someone constantly yelling at me for my attire and being outside of a building without an escort. It's annoying."

It had been probably the longest and most opinionated thing Eve had ever said to Ronald, and the effect is somewhat profound on him, starting with a frozen, slightly bewildered smile that eventually thaws as he laughs to himself and goes "Wow. Okay." Obviously picking up the drastic changed in personality in his co-worker but not doing anything to look the gift horse in the mouth, Ronald accepts it right off the bat. "I'll pick you up at six."

* * *

**Pace picking up in... I dunno. A few chapters. Say, does anyone want to request a one-shot?**


	12. Touch

**So. Apparently I forgot February only has 28 days this year. And that this is the first of the month. But ehhhh, it's not midnight yet where I'm at, so I'm not late with this chapter yet.**

**Speaking of which, it's just exposition and fluff, since I need to get this plot moving before everyone gets bored, myself included. Be forewarned, the NEXT chapters are the really interesting ones...**

* * *

It thus comes to be that Eve settles into a routine of sorts.

In the early mornings, she fights, or rather, practices fighting. Ever since her first defeat in a long time at the hands of Undertaker, Eve had gotten into the habit of challenging him daily. Though to her chagrin, he seems to give her the slip every time, no matter what they duel with or where it happens, and never pass up a chance to tease her about the fact, this of course is not about to stop her from trying, at least to improve if not to find a way to defeat him. There are slight mistakes in her defence and offence, she gradually notices; a split second in time when she lets her guard down whenever she deflects a blow, letting Undertaker hit her from behind, or a miscalculated strike at where she thinks her opponent will be that instead gives away her position. When the playing field is even or worse, tipped to the enemy's advantages, her chances of winning diminish severely. These are all mistakes the reaper intends to fix, no matter the amount of practice required.

Eve is not perfect, but she is one Hell of a perfectionist.

On the other hand, she also spends her time duelling others, as Felicia had made good on her promise to find more sparring partners, and very soon after she had received several requests to practice with. These battles she finishes just as quickly, but afterwards she is usually the victor and always willing to give advice on what went wrong- a weak stance or predictable fighting pattern- and tell them how to get better, and either way, it is a good method of staying sharp.

After this she has tea with Felicia and several of her friends, former classmates and current coworkers alike, (Undertaker at some point slinks away, apparently finding more joy in annoying William, probably by trying to molest him, or returning home than being squealed at or bowed to constantly because of his status, and Eve finds herself unable to blame him for this) where yet more people ask her to help them, offer gossip and conversation, and Eve finds herself practicing her smile. Bit by it, it becomes more convincing, though her cheeks feel a little tingly afterwards. Some people are not yet convinced, like Brandi and a few other slightly wary ones, by it, but she gets better every time.

(Speaking of which, she did make amends, for lack of a better way of saying it, with the pigtailed reaper-in-training eventually, their truce hastily sealed with a brief handshake. "You know what? I don't like you." Brandi had told her one afternoon, when Eve had caught her on the way out from a lesson and explained in a tone a great deal less flat and uninteresting than usual that she would like to clear any bad blood between them if that had been alright with her. "But I respect you. So fine, I guess.")

At nine o'clock sharp she excuses herself and clocks in for work. An average of three to five souls are given to her over the course of the day, all spread across London and the countryside of noblemen; if a certain place or person has a concentrated deaths around it, it (or he or she) may be designated as a 'post' and assigned to a particular reaper, but for the most part a collection of souls that happen to die on the same day but a few hours apart are given to each reaper to collect, and that is that. Though at first Ronald had been paired up with her, given her green status, she eventually is sent on there missions alone.

Sometimes, the blond-brunette finds her at the end of the work day, smiling perpetually and offering a place in a group date, or a party, or one of the many other gatherings he seems to be a part of. Of course, she accepts, despite never wanting to, and he grins happily at the prospect of having converted another fellow reaper into socializing and partying, never quite suspecting that her behaviour is (currently) completely false, though sometimes he does get suspicious. Like when she occasionally jumps away from physical contact, which Eve still has to work on accepting as a part of normal interaction with others. Either Undertaker and/or Grell, who both seem to enjoy makeovers way, way too much, rejoice in their chance to dress up Eve like a life-sized doll, and after being fitted in various outfits usually including corsets, overly complicated hairstyles, pink, red, and absurdly high heels, she eventually comes out looking like a proper English lady.

"You know, you should dress yourself up so much more often, why don't you?" Grell often whines and laments, though he at least seems placated by the fact that Eve has given up her stubborn grudge on him and lets the flamboyant redhead play dress-up with herI end indeed, touch her at all, regularly. This does not, however, stop her from feeling extremely creeped out and uncomfortable when he goes on one of his many dramatic speeches, the majority of which, she later discovers via a tip given to her by Undertaker, are heavily inspired by a playwright and poet by the name of William Shakespeare.

(Sometimes she thinks she recognizes the name from somewhere else, but can never seem to lay a finger on it...)

At the party/soirée/whatever it is she is attending, Eve blends in, with the people instead of the scenery as usual. Every time, she makes a little personal goal for herself to fulfill involving complimenting three different people and adding something constructive to at least two conversations. She finds them rather inane, always about crushes and overtime and relationships tangled more than a matted dog's fur, but she usually remembers something of say from an earlier conversation, at least.

Either way, whether she goes to a party or not, participates fully or not, or enjoys herself or not (it is usually not), her days always end the same: with Undertaker, his cookies and tea, and terrible cadaver related puns that Eve does not even pretend are funny. She does not have to, which is exactly what she likes best about being around the man: there are absolutely no expectations. Just occasionally laughter and eventually sleeping in a warm, comfy, coffin.

"So you admit it!" The mortician accuses with immovable conviction in his partially sheltered eyes. A long-nailed finger is directed at Eve with the claim.

The girl in question freezes. Had she just said that out loud?

With a cackle, Undertaker jumps up to Eve and decides to have another 'up close and way too personal' moment with her, causing her to nearly spill her tea, which she narrowly avoids by swinging her beaker to the far right. "Don't try to fool me; I know that look on your face. I know what you're thinking..." Farther and farther he leans in, his knowing smirk widening to the point of lunacy.

"Uh..." _So I hadn't said anything? _To avoid bumping into the mortician, Eve gradually starts to sway backwards, becoming a bit unbalanced but at least avoiding any awkward head-banging of any kind. The mortician's claim colors her slightly curious, but she is not about to jump to any conclusions. (She swears Undertaker has probably never heard of personal space in his life...) "What are you talking about?"

"You have a crush on someone!"

"..."

_What was that I don't even-_

The tableau, him craning his neck forward, her almost laying on the coffin door if it is not for the elbow she has now resorted to to prop herself up, is broken by the crash of Eve's beaker as it falls to the ground and the conversation's train veers randomly into crazy town. Miraculously, the tea beaker merely spins for a few seconds about the bottom rim before steadying, avoiding even a minor spill, but Eve is not so lucky, trembling and staying upright (as much as she is at the time anyways) for just a moment before she falls backward, laughing.

And laughing and laughing and laughing, while for once Undertaker is the one with the confused look on his face.

She is surprised herself, really. To think that she is still capable of more than empty smiles and harsh chuckles is an action she had thought quite impossible for her. But Undertaker had seemed so sure of making her admit something that is not even remotely true, and she had been thinking of something else entirely, that she cannot help but laugh and laugh and laugh (again), holding her stomach and rolling to her side. "What!" She chokes before succumbing to giggles. "How did you even get that... No! That'd never happen!"

"Hmm?" Uncharacteristically caught off guard, the information broker is for the first time that Eve has ever seen him at a loss for words. "In that case, then care to explain the change of appearance?"

"Eh?" As quickly as it comes, the laughter stops as Eve contemplates the question. "What are you talking about?" She questions, eyes snapping open and flickering upwards, back to the mortician.

Back in control of the conversation, Undertaker settles back into his old leer. "Surely you've noticed, Eve!" He claims. "You've gotten quite a, ah, livelier complexion nowadays! Does you good in my own humble opinion- you always looked like a guest before I prettied them up... Pale skin is seen as an asset among the noble ladies these days, but you can only go so far, you know."

"...Show me." She asks, getting up from the coffin top. What is he going on about, Eve does not know, but she is definitely going to find out.

"Just a minute!" The funeral director chirps and rises, a relief to Eve as she regains her personal space again, and starts to rummage through piles of equipment near the back of the shop. "I haven't used it in a while, now where has it gone...? Ah," Dragging something heavy out from underneath a pile of sotobas with many a wooden clang, he brings out a mirror- suspiciously shiny and newly minted for something Undertaker supposedly just had lying around, at least when the man wipes a grey sleeve over the surface in a makeshift cleaning job to remove the firmly layer of dust upon it. "Seeeee?" He says, drugging up the apparatus for her to do so.

Finding it wiser to not ask about what a mortician who does not even cut his hair or seem to care about his appearance in the slightest would be doing with a mirror, since he would probably refuse to indulge her anyways, Eve peers into the polished surface ... And finds nothing out of the ordinary.

Which, in itself, is something quite unusual for her; the last time she had seen herself, she had looked dead, blood-drained skin and and soulless eyes being her most active features. And yet now, she sees herself like a completely normal girl (almost, actually; her eyes are still a tad too light to be considered completely average). Her cheeks have a flush. Her irises have a shine to them. She looks normal, Hell, she looks alive. "Now isn't that curious..." She murmurs, tilting her head and staring somewhat cautiously at the face showing in her reflection, as if she still does not accept that it is really hers.

"Curious indeed." The man holding the mirror muses, adopting an austere temperament, albeit a temporary one; no sooner than he says this does Undertaker literally throw aside the matter, along with the mirror itself, and cheerfully bound onto what is practically Eve's lap. "But now what I'd like to find out," he purrs, his hands gripping and weighing down on the girl's knees as he pounces forward to whisper right into her ear, the hot air of his breath fluttering on the sensitive flesh, "Is whether I can make you blush even harder."

There is a soft thump as two bodies fall onto the coffin, as Undertaker uses his momentum to send them both crashing down. Eve, caught off guard by the surprise action, as unpredictable as she had come to know Undertaker as, finds herself able to push uselessly against him but effectively trapped by a cage of grey-swathed limbs otherwise. "Hey!" She yelps, only to clamp her mouth shut, gritting teeth hard enough that she can feel the tension in her entire skull, when she catches Undertaker's eye.

Or rather, his eyes, which are now uncovered and looking at Eve with the most focused, serious expression she had ever seen the mortician wear, period. The dual-ringed irises looking at her right now are drawing her gaze to them, no, demanding it, and Eve finds herself hopelessly frozen, unable to move, save for an eternal tremor that threatens to shake its way to the surface of her skin, or look away. The man probably is not even touching her directly. So why- why can she not move?! No longer the smiling funeral director, Undertaker looks more like he did in his active career as a reaper, and the pictures she had seen in textbooks that many seniors Eve had talked to during soirees had sworn did not do justice to convey his aura. They had been right.

Fuck, she is actually scared.

For these few, absolutely bone-staying terrifying moments, the girl is certain Undertaker is going to follow up on his casual promise- an escalation of his curiosity, no doubt- and she too is going to find out how hard her skin can flush, heat drawn to her cheeks by touches and teasing. That whisper, echoing so deep into her ear, had already made her shiver with some emotion she is not sure had even existed before; how is she going to react to this? She is about to find out, whether she likes it or not, it seems; even if she wants to, the kind of attachment she haves to Undertaker is not one that lets her so easily refuse a request, however loosely implied, by him.

Expression clinical and expressionless, Undertaker dips down closer to Eve...

And then his mouth curls into his usual, easy-going, completely lax, unserious, laughing smile.

And then he straightens himself and distances the two again.

And then he chuckles at Eve's bewildered, hard-staring expression and chuckles, "Only joking, Eve." As though he has never intended to do anything in the first place. (Which apparently he had not). "Haha- if only you-"

And then, not letting him finish, Eve strikes lighting fast, lurching upwards and curling her fingers around his shoulders, swinging without warning (and surprisingly violently) to the left, slamming him onto his back and to the ground. The thump here is somewhat less hollow here, and certainly louder.

"You don't joke about that!" Her thick, hissing voice is one part exasperation, three parts hurt, and seven panic. Hands still gripping Undertaker's shoulders, it is her turn to look directly down in him, only Eve's expression is anything but tranquil "Never! Not about that..." Not about something as intimate and personal as touch. Feelings that barely get through to her, yes, the action of metal clashing on metal and flying fists and intersecting kicks, yes, but never touch. Precious, uplifting, vile, defiling touch. What she secretly longs for but fears too much to seek- of all things, Undertaker should never take touch lightly with her, and he should know that. Not after all it has done to her, or could still do to her.

Of course, Eve is in no condition to actually say this, limbs shaking and chest heaving with more emotion, far more volatile than usual, than she has felt in a long time, that she has to cringe back with a muffled, choked whimper to contain within herself, but her posture and face convey it all for Undertaker to comprehend anyways.

Blinking owlishly in a rare moment of shock, it dawns on him exactly what impact his actions had done, and immediately, he tries to compensate this, propping himself upward with an arm so he can hook the other around Eve's waist and draw her in. "I'm sorry." He apologizes softly, hugging the girl a bit tighter in an attempt to stay her shudder, though this turns out to be futile. Undaunted, he keeps talking, "I suppose I've need to learn when far is too far, hmm?"

Eve, meanwhile, is struggling to push visions of cruel, fierce, smirking faces and claws and poisoned honey voices sprouting morbid poetry in her ear out of her head. Trying to cycle through her mind, her body stays tense and unresponsive. Why did he do that? The bitter thought rings. Pushing her down like that and nearly... Even Undertaker should had known not to do something like that to her after what she had gone through. After all...

_"I know everything!"_

He had told her. Surely he knew.

But then again, she starts to rationalize, perhaps he did not, and only thought so. Her former life had been a vaguely terrible thing, loosely defined by the words 'revenge' and 'monsters'. 'Sister' and 'death'. Even with Kain, the conversations they held about her (for there were never any conversations about Kain and she had never questioned it either) never used to describe her pain monikers like 'rape'. They never went there. She never went there.

Maybe Undertaker did not either.

Even so, it takes a deep breath that fills her lungs slowly in stops and starts for her to calm down enough to talk, and despite that, her own "I'm sorry." Comes out weak and crackled, like she is about to cry. (And that is another thing; neither of them, her or the information broker, knew this- not the over zealous teasing, but the reaction an action Eve offered in return- would happen. She had been revived in this very building with next to no emotions or opinions about anything. Since when did she have so many emotions inside her? Had they been hiding?) "I just... Can't. Please. Promise you won't ever do that again."

"Promise." Undertaker vows, now sitting upright and holding Eve in a warm, comforting embrace. "Am I forgiven?"

Engulfing in warmth, and now suddenly an urge to sleep, Eve merely nods, burrows deeper into Undertaker's chest, and gives into a dreamless rest.

* * *

**IT'S SO FLUFFEH.**

**And yet incredibly angsty at the same time. Apparently I have a talent for that?**

**Oh, and this chapter officially makes this my longest story ever. About 65 000 words and we're just getting started, yay me!**


	13. Closing In

**Auuugh sweet Jesus I feel like crap. So. I'm sick. It feel terrible. But regardless, here is your new chapter! Enjoying the story so far? Yes? Good, because I'm going on hiatus.**

**Right. About that.**

**It's just for a month, mind you. I've got two reasons; one, I'm doing the Camp NaNoWriMo event (for April!) and I already know that to write even a 30 000 word novel in a month, you need a a daily average of 1000 words.**

**GASP WHEEZE I CAN BARELY MANAGE 500.**

**So yeah, I need to devote my time to that, so no update for the next... Six weeks? Sounds like a lot, I know. Tell you what, you want to see something happen in this story, I'll write a little one-shot just for you guys, eh? Hit me with your best shot.**

* * *

If truth is her religion, then Eve had not been a very good disciple. After all, a lie is to tell what is not real, and is not what is not real really what she had been telling her peers this entire time? (Try to say that five times fast, she had once dared Undertaker in a rare moment of jest, a challenge the mortician had failed rather miserably to his, and surprisingly her, own amusement.) The grins, the laughing, the mindless agreement of opinions of aesthetics- over time, Eve has become better at acting, and therefore lying. But then again, given that logic, no doubt she is not the only 'liar' in the world- if everyone working at the association had been brutally honest with each other, most likely none of the employees would be able to stand each other. Still, the girl reckons she gives a false face more often than most, one, she is satisfied to acknowledge, that she has moulded into a perfectly respectable mask, and therefore facade to emulate, and possibly one day become.

Unfortunately, this carefully crafted mask of pleasant behaviour and sweet smiles soon starts to crack, and it all starts the day that William had called her to a meeting room to discuss what eventually came to be known as case 4738, or, the possession incident to those who heard snippets of stories and spun them into full blown rumours and traded them among peers during break time.

Really, he had come at the worst time possible; She and Grell, who had been stuck on what he called 'babysitter duty' and was sitting with the trainees complaining about it loudly too, had ended up getting into a rather catty argument on exactly what defined a lady. Aside from the obvious definition, Eve had always considered a lady to be someone who was dressed prim and proper, acted as she appeared, had intelligence, kindness and sensitivity, and knew well when to speak for herself and hold her tongue. The redhead, on the opposite side of the spectrum, insisted a really lady would never back down, period, or put any of her gifts, in mind or body, to waste at any opportunity, being a goddess like embodiment of confidence and strength. Not finding Grell's definition particularly to her liking, the bickering between the two had escalated into the subject of nicknames, whereupon Eve had labeled Grell with the moniker 'old man' (which, incidentally, Eve had discovered after some research could technically be translated from 'sempai') after he had tried to convince them how 'cute' and 'sexy' the butchered excuses names could be. The insult garnered a dramatic gasp and demand of "You will take that back!" From Grell, in response to which Eve had adamantly refused and called him 'old man' again, and somehow, five minutes later, Grell had found out exactly how much Eve hated the idea of sexual contact, and tried to pounce on the girl and steal a kiss, which she fought him off with both hands and feet and every single one of the trainees watched in the kind of shock and bewilderment they would have upon seeing Ronald turn down a date. Several hundred of them. Felicia, in particular, had a hard time trying to figure out why the hell the sight was giving her a nosebleed.

And then William showed up and essentially ruined Eve's life.

Of course, it was not so much his horrible timing that instigated the breaking of Eve's facade as it did what happened afterwards, when she had been made to go to a meeting room with several senior reapers inside, beyond her rank obviously, and from the way William bowed in respect to them (she had made sure to follow suit as well; always a good idea when with William T. spears) past his as well, and for some reason, Undertaker, who had been the only one not dressed in a crisp suit and not-not munching noisily on bone-shaped biscuits, spraying crumbs everywhere with each and every chomp and chew.

"'Ello, luv!" He chirps and greets Eve with a wave, ignoring William, but the others are not so wont to give a warm welcome to either of them. Immediately, one reaper, a grey haired one with horn-rimmed spectacles, issues an order to the two newcomers to close the door and sit down, a command they both obey instantly, Eve sliding into the chair adjacent to the one Ndertaker is perched on, William seating himself on the one on her other side.

_There's a problem, isn't there?_ Eve thinks, half tempted to actually voice her wondering, or at least shoot it to Undertaker in the form of a quizzical expression, but she refrains, rather sure she already knows what the answer will be. After all, good things rarely come from being called up to a superior's office, in this case, five of them.

And, she the girl finds out via a long winded lecture about cinematic records, she discovers she is right. Quite unfortunately.

"According to all of those who examined the records, no alleged identical copy of you was found." Announces one man sitting at the end of the long table, opposite Eve. "And as such, the account you provided," Here he pushes up his glasses and refocuses on a stack of shuffled papers in his hands, "Evangeline Sonata Britford, of the existence of the doppleganger cannot be proven. As your partner Ronald Knox was not able to provide any insight, you are now the prime suspect in case 4738."

Waiting patiently for the apparent leader of the meeting to finish, Eve speaks up when he does so. "So, is this an interrogation?" She inquires. If that is the case, she should not have anything to worry about. After all, the saying is innocent until proven guilt-_ oh wait._

"No, this is a trial."

_No, this is very bad. Horrifically so._

The next monologue to come does not make things any better.

"Killing those not on the death list is a serious offence." One man on her left sniffs. Immediately Eve gets the sense that he does not like the idea of spending any length of time inside the same room as her. The feeling, she spontaneously decides, is mutual. "And given the circumstances of your involvement with the Association in the first place, the consequences of your actions may be severe punishment."

"Now, now, Antony, she hasn't been convicted yet! There's nothing to worry yourself over, Eve; trials don't work quite like human ones." Undertaker says to mollify the girl just as she stiffens in her chair, causing her to turn her head sharply with an expression that physically portrays, in almost frightening accuracy,_ Worry myself? You think I won't do that after finding out I'm being out on trial for mass murder! _Though she does not seem convinced in the slightest, he presses on to further explain in detail, "It's nothing more than the simple viewing of the cinematic record, really. I know you dislike the thought, but you can humour them, won't youuuuu? Then, of for whatever reason that strategy doesn't work, well, at least they have to note that you cooperated, right?"

Gradually, Eve slows down her breathing, realizing just how close to hyperventilation she had just went. Show these men, complete strangers- with the exception of Undertaker and William, and even then the latter has no personal connection with her- her record? The very thought of exposing everything about herself like that poisons her stomach with a sickness that threatens to rise with verbal bile. She had just arrived, and already she is being stuck between a grave violation of her privacy (her memories! Her mind! Those are not the kind of things she ever wants to make privy with strangers!) or being possibly charged with a crime she did not commit because a supernatural creature that had followed her from another dimension framed her for it. This is no 'rock and a hard place'; it may as well be a mountain and humongous death scythe.

But of course she can't overreact- in fact, such a response would be highly characteristic of her. Taking in the facts, Eve lists the pros and cons of each choice. Saying yes will expose herself to these people and quite possibly give them more reason to be prejudiced against. However, they cannot freely be discriminate against or her divulge details of a trial to anyone not actually involved, so she does not have to worry about gossip... Unless one of them talks. And she can always take steps to make sure the culprit is reprimanded, no matter how far fetched the idea is. Saying no preserves her privacy, but then again, the word of a retired reaper, legendary or not, is not enough to confirm the existence of a supposedly supernatural creature with a previous vendetta with her. If she remains a suspect, Eve will not be able to request to be put on the investigation team for the 'demon' attack on Brandi- especially since she is the one insisting that the same thing is the committer of both crimes...

"Fine." She blurts, pushing the words out of her mouth before her teeth clamp shut on them with a grit, like a wolf snapping up prey into its chops. "Do what you need to and get if over with."

The reaper sitting at the opposite end of the table nods off to William, who grasps Eve's arm with a clinical, business-like coolness, stretching out the arm onto the table, palm facing up. Rising from his chair to attain a more convenient position, he clicks his death scythe once, and then promptly slices the blade across Eve's hand.

He is instantly blown back with such force that his head hits the wall behind him and there is a clatter as a set of spectacles clack against the ground. This fact is not much of a concern to anyone else, though, because Eve's cinematic records have become rampant and wild, lashing out furiously like a hurricane with knives and daggers, sharp serrated ones that cut so roughly and efficiently through flesh, caught and spinning around in its relentless wind. The reels of memories spread out like ink in water, dispersing but whipping about much to fast for anyone, not Eve herself, much less anyone else, to catch a single flash of of any memory. Instead of trying to see or decipher them, the majority of people there are actively avoiding the records, lurching to avoid the winding spinning reels as they lash around violently, threatening to impale those who come to close to them. As the mass of records is steadily expanding as the reels themselves spread and more leak, no, it is more like bursting from a dam with the pressure of an entire train pushing through to the other side, from the wound. Shouts of surprise rise up over each other's din; nothing like this has ever really happened before.

However, no one there is quite as panicked as Eve. The fact that her records are spilling so profusely out of a mere cut on the palm is enough to unsettle her- after all, this kind of reaction is not normal, not this severe, not from a laceration so small- but it is when she starts to relive her life, a flickering screen stealing the place of her regular line of vision, that the paranoia sets in. Everyone else in the room disappears, unable to see much of the reels as they fly by too fast to see at a glance, too close to properly examine without possibly being impaled, and she is left with her inner nightmares and demons to face on her own. Victims of terrible trauma, the kind that makes people shut down or throw up or scream or give up belief in God, have different ways of coping with their lives. Some shut themselves off from the outside world, like Eve had effectively done, with the exception do one or two people at a time. Others take their anger out on those around them. Still more will drown their sorrow in alcohol and drugs.

None of them, however, no matter how they fight or run from their problems, can ever really face whatever scars they had received without an undeniable fear. None of them can can ever truly say they are completely recovered, and that it will not affect them for the rest of their lives. None of them, none, can ever relive that they had already suffered through once and simply shrug it off like it had never even happened to them. Without screaming. Without paralysis. Without the return of that choking dread that tells you that you are about to suffer deep immense pain, and that there is nothing you can do about it.

Eve is not an exception.

_No. _She can almost feel it happening to her all over again, and all attempts to close her eyes fail miserably as she finds herself pinned to her seat by some unseen force, not letting her move, or look away.

_Stop._

_Stop!_

_How do I stop this?!_

She cannot for the life of her find the answers, and in her current state she is in no position to look for any of them. Eve finds she cannot even speak; try as she might to warn everyone to leave the room, to get out before they risk being stabbed and infected with the Crown of Thorns, her throat can only let through enough air for a rather pitiful feeble choking noise. Eyes unable to close, blink, or even squint the tiniest bit, she is paralyzed with horror, not wanting to be anywhere near where she is, not wanting to see, but unable to look away.

"Peekaboo, I seeee yoooouuuu~!"

Until a certain pair of long black-nailed fingers close over her eyes, and a familiar voice whispers into her ear. "Listen to me, Eve. Take a deep breath and count to ten. Yes, that's it." He advices, praising her as she swallows a series of gasps and mouths the number backwards. "Now breathe out, the in... clam down, shush." When she is done, the hands remove themselves from her eyes, and Eve sees the room empty once more, save for four very flustered, furious reapers and William, frantically searching for his misplaced spectacles. Chest heaving, eyes shot wide like thrown open windows, and head craned back where Undertaker had forced it from above, having risen drinks seat to stand behind Eve in hers, the trainee reaper just stares straight ahead.

Everyone else, save for William, does the same.

"Undertaker! What was the meaning of that!" The most senior reaper of the lot, whose name Undertaker has not learned, or even tried to, really, sputters with a rage he is not entirely sure whom to direct at, as he leaps dramatically to his feet from his far away chair, having recovered first from his stupor. Almost everyone in the room is disheveled and seems to be recovering from quite a nasty shock, with the funeral director being the only exception.

He practically sing-songs his response. "I did tell you it wouldn't work!" He declares like a little boy gleefully rubbing into a younger siblings face of how he had been the one in the right of some squabble. "You keep forgetting, she's no regular case, hmm? Or even reaper, for that matter. For someone whose main characteristic is survival," He summarizes rather concisely, the fact punctuated with a mere wave of the hand and flick of the hat, "It's natural such a thing would happen, don't you think? I'm afraid your results are still inconclusive."

Appearing to be quite satisfied with foiling the 'higher-ups' evil plan to invade Eve's privacy, he grabs the aforementioned reaper's uninjured hand, and says, "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a guest to tend to urgently." Before dragging a rather burned out looking Eve out the door.

**...**

"Now why the long face, luv?" Undertaker wants to know, craning his neck to try and get a better look at Eve's down turned face. It is not an easy feat, what with them sitting side by side on a coffin and him trying to see her hand shut simultaneously.

"Nicknames again?" Eve mumbles, trying to avoid the subject.

No such luck; Undertaker is not letting her go that easily. "Hmm, you didn't seem to mind the few times I called you that. Or is it that you didn't notice?"

The conversation serves back onto its original path as Eve narrowly avoids the subject of Undertaker and his nicknames and the possibility of *gasp* her actually getting used to them, as she responds in turn, "They didn't see my records." As something heavy seems to weigh down her eyes, "They couldn't see them, at all."

"I thought you'd be relieved."

"I'd be more so if I could clear my name!" Eve snaps slightly. "That was supposed to be how, but now that option's gone... It's not even the second time that thing's pulled the same trick, but unless I find a way to prove it even exists, I'm still a suspect in that case. I won't be put on any investigations at this rate, so what am I supposed to do- ahh!" Her rant is killed off by a surprise wince as she feels her skin being drawn together, and is caught off guard by the intensity of the pain. It is not much, but more than she had been expecting.

"Hush- you'll tear your stitches." Her makeshift doctor warns, though not unkindly, tying off the aforementioned thread and snipping the ends short with a pair of scissors that appear to be composed of bone. "If you ask me, I'd concentrate on proving you weren't the one going all Grell Sutcliff on those people and then request to be assigned to the investigation. There's no need to worry, really." He adds, in an attempt to ease the girl's stress. "Even if you are convicted, the punishment isn't all that severe. Demotion and overtime and several months probation, if my memory serves correctly."

Undertaker lists the terms off rather non-chalantly, totally ignoring the fact that Eve had already known that, and that such a punishment could last up to about a year and most likely would ruin all her chances of blending in with her peers, who, as far as she is aware, do not go about slaughtering those not on the death list for absolutely no reason and then get convicted for it. (Now that she thinks about it, the penalty described sounds an awful lot like what Grell had been complaining of suffering the past few weeks...)

"Oh my. Thank you. I feel so much better thanks to you." She ends up droning.

The man beams. "Happy to help." He says with frightening sincerity.

Eve half scoffs, half sighs. The first time in years she had used sarcasm, and it just so happens to be the rare occasion that Undertaker takes her seriously.

* * *

**The ending's not really an ending, but meeeeh, I'll leave you with somthing cute.**

**Now if you'll excuse me, I'm about to faint.**


	14. Personal(ity)

**So guess who finished writing 30 000 words in a month LIKE A BAWS-**

**And then pounded out a new chapter LIKE A BAWS-**

**And also is working on a new story LIKE A-**

**Okay seriously guys, if you haven't figured out that it's me yet, you must be like the worst fans EVER.**

**On another note... So it's just occurred to me that there are an awful lot of OC fics with Undertaker cropping up recently.**

**It's just occurred to me that I really don't like them.**

**It's just occurred to me that the reasons I don't like them may be exactly why not many people like mine.**

**I'm kinda sad now.**

* * *

Records, thin and winding, almost lazy in the way they twine around Eve, display themselves to her and the members of the board. The latter is growing restless- after being called back by a retired reaper, who, in the words of one member, "is becoming far to involved for a profession he has left behind"; they are less than willing to be inconvenienced as to examine the same case within the span of two days.

Of course, despite the pressure for Eve to prove what needs proving with little trouble this time around (preferably none, really), the novice reaper shows no signs of caving, at least on the outside. For whatever reason, staying composed is a shade harder than usual- she is almost shaking- but she pulls herself together and manages anyways.

Breathe in, and breathe out, she tells herself, and everything will be fine.

Not wanting to keep anyone waiting any longer, Eve starts off by saying, "After examine the records of the victims of case 4738, I have found evidence supporting the theory of the existence of the doppelgänger, as earlier claimed, as well as my own innocence." Even listening to herself, she sounds insane. Importers of grim reapers who kill for the sake of killing- Eve in now way doubts exactly why her superiors are so disbelieving of her.

Nether the less, she presses on, and continues. One hand- still temporarily swathed in white cloth to hide the thin stitches of black thread embedded in her palm, draws a selection of thin reels, currently frothing out from several books laid out around her on tables, towards her, putting specific reels side by side and accentuating their events to her audience. "These events, recorded by two separate people, depict events happening at the same time. This," she points to the reel on her right, their left, "is the death of one Theodore Walters. This record here is a witness account of the same event by Beatrice King-sleigh."

The main issue with proving that there had been two Eves at the party that night is not one of inevitability- obviously after a thorough examination of the records, some concrete proof must arise- but a problem of time. Records are a tricky thing to piece together, especially with so many of them involved, and the Grim Reaper Association does not nearly have enough resources that it will complete said examinations and piecing together anytime soon. (Not too mention the chaos that had happened, the way the doppelgänger had stabbed so many people in the back, preventing it from being seen...) And soon is what Eve wants to clear herself by, considering her every intention of being assigned to the investigation itself. And if no one else has the time to do so, she may as well take it upon herself to present credible proof of her innocence.

"As seen in Walter's record, he had been killed facing his murderer, seen here." The scene in question play soon after she mentions this. it's a short one, with a blurred foreground, but still shows enough to Eve's audience that they can see the rough shape of the doppleganger through Theodore's eyes. "However, at the same time, King-sleigh's record show's this same event- only on the edge, but Walter's body, being pushed to the ground, is clearly seen."

"This confirms the killer's placement at the time as being just outside of King-sleigh's vision, but two seconds later, it can be seen here, in the reflection of a mirror on the wall, that there is a person identical to the killer just behind her. As such, there is reason to believe there was in fact an imposter present that day, there with the intent to cause trouble and confusion." Eve finishes, very conveniently glossing over the fact that about thirty people had died that night far ahead of schedule in an incredibly messy manner.

Nether the less, the board appears to be satisfied with her small presentation, and with a stiff nod and a notification that she will be contacted later, Eve give a curt, short bow, a terse thank you, and a quick exit.

That went better than I thought. Thinks Eve, with a feeling washing over her that she thinks is either exhaustion or relief. It had been well worth it staying awake the majority of last night perusing the records for evidence to help prove her innocence.

Of course, that alone is by no means enough to accomplish such a goal on her own, but at least should be enough to tide her superiors over as to decrease suspicion against her. Hopefully, enough to let her get to her true goal- being assigned to the case itself, although she is doing it for all the wrong reasons...

Because the matter at hand has become personal, whether they like it or not. (Whether she likes it or not.) And try what they may, if the end of the case ever comes, the conflict will end with Eve. Of that, she is certain.

Aside from. That, though, she has to try to make sure it ends as soon as possible, and with as little bloodshed needed.

...

"I trust your endeavour went smoothly?"

A set of thin, wiry arms wrap themselves with much fervour around Eve's shoulders, and she does not need to look up from her seat in her cubicle to see that Undertaker is standing behind her, looming above the girl in his usual faintly eerie manner. "Undertaker?" She muses with a slight head tilt upwards, mildly surprised but not in pleased to see him there. "What are you doing here?"

"You wanted to be alone earlier on, a request, I should remind you, that I gave with no resistance- none!- so I felt it was about time I agitated you some more, hmm? You've been awfully quiet lately." Undertaker says with a rather snarky grin, completely blatant in declaring his liking of causing Eve trouble.

"Things have been quiet." Eve muses with a shrug, returning to her paperwork, which she is mildly pleased to find she is almost finished. She will be able to clock out soon at this rate. "I haven't gotten a response from the higher ups, about the cases or anything. I'm not too sure whether it's a good thing. It's been rather slow talking to Mister Knox and the others as well. I suppose the parties have been slowing down with the onset of work that has been coming in lately."

"Oh realllly? That's odd. (My, what's this? I want to see too~!)" Undertaker says, proceeding to lean very far in to look at Eve's most recent form. "Even in my day, there was always some celebration happening, not that I attended all of them. And I do mean always!"

Eve gives a faint nod, not quite fully focused. "Mm'm, but maybe not this time, I'll check." Tiptoeing and stretching her neck too look over the edge of her cubicle wall, the reaper calls out to Ronald, who happens to be two cells over from her, in a manner so casual it makes Undertaker's eyes raise with a certain kind of intrigue, "Mister Knox? Are there any parties happening tonight you might happen to want me to know about?"

Caught off guard even more than the mortician at the question, the blond leaps him his chair to look at Eve. Unlike her, he does not require scrimping or stretching to see over to the other side. "Oh." Is all he say at first, as if in a daze. "Nope, not really. Been quiet lately, I guess."

"I see." Eve says, a little more flat than before, as she plops herself down in her seat. "See?" She says, looking up at her companion.

He does, perhaps in more ways than she had meant.

...

Ronald feels guilty.

Technically, there is a party happening, but it happens to be Lily's birthday party, and she made a point earlier to tell Ronald that she only wanted closer acquaintances attending.

Technically, Eve falls out of this category, even though pretty much every other worker Lily has ever met does, and so had not been invited.

So technically, Ronald had not been lying.

But he still feels somewhat guilty.

There is no reason to be, really, and he should be enjoying the party- a low-key but still interesting venture in which the men dress up in period suits and the women in corsets and dresses as they all find a bar in London, where the humans there are already so drunk they will never remember them in the mornings no matter what they do anyways, and drink and talk about gossip and work. But still, being a perpetually honest guy, Ronald cannot help but feel a little upset at himself at lying (well, technically lying) to a girl that in his honest opinion is not particularly bad to be around with: she just needs someone to get her to open up, is all.

Of course, that does not mean in any way he is pouting. Seriously. He is trying very hard not to, in fact, and taking every measure not to contort his completely mature and manly face-

"Aww! You always look so cute when you pout, Ron!"

Damn.

"Lils." He greets as casually as he can, as a freckled redhead in a dress to match her evergreen eyes practically glomps him and proceeds to stretch out his cheeks. "I'd appreciate if you didn't do that- my face is still hurting from last time."

"Oh shush, you: It's my birthday, I'll do whatever I please, thank you very much."

"Aha, I know." Playing it up to his audience, the blonde gives a sheepish laugh and receives another coo and pinch. Despite Lily's willingness to play along, though, she is not fooled by the display, and at the same time demands to know, "So, what's bothering you? You're usually not so quiet... Spill! I bet it's juicy!"

So Ronald does. And when he is finished, Lily gives a kind of look between "Oh, so that's why", which she verbalizes, and "Uh huh..." Which she does not, but Ronald can still ascertain from her face. "Look, Ron, I know you feel guilty about it, but you know, this is a birthday party! It's only natural for me to only want to invite people I know!"

"You usually get to know people pretty well after a couple of days, especially when their cubicle is right next to you."

"Ha- you're right." Is Ronald too drunk, or did her laughter sound off? "But to be honest, I haven't gotten to know her very well- she doesn't talk much, she's kind of gloomy- did you hear those rumours going on about her?"

"What?"

"Never mind. Anyways, don't worry, I'll be sure to invite her next year." She vows, her tone completely cheerful once more. "When she has surely by then carried a conversation spanning more than five minutes with me. We're cubicle neighbours, after all!"

"Uh huh." Ronald agrees, satiated with this promise, but afterwards he still feels a little strange, and, blaming it on the stuffiness of the pub, excuses himself to go for a walk. Though with the cold season just starting up, it is a bit too cold to be walking very far, so for the most part he just stands, just outside the entrance, trying to clear his head, without much success- until he sees a vaguely familiar figure in the street and suddenly feels very, very sober.

"Eve?" At the sound of her name, the girl turns around, and Ronald sees the girl. It is her- but dressed like a boy running an errand, hair tucked into a cap, bags clutched to her chest, and for the first time since he first gave them to her, not wearing the glasses that her gold-coloured eyes turn green.

For some reason, they are also glowing faintly in the moonlight.

"Mister Knox?" The girl is question asks, and Ronald decides to shrug it off and think that it is most likely just a reflection of light, like the fat snowflakes that are drifting around them, scattered like dancers on the wind. If that is not it, who cares, he is drunk, is he not? "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing... Me, I was just out for a walk, is all." The blond smooths his hair back with some degree of tension. It's not untruthful, per say, but, unused to lying or deceiving, saying it still makes him slightly uncomfortable. "So what brings you here? In that outfit?"

A bit of hesitation slows Eve's response. She is unused to being asked these kinds of questions. "There was a bakery. French, I think, down the street from Undertaker's. I went to buy some food, is all. It's the only shop open this time of night, apparently. As for the clothes, I sewed them. It's easier to pretend to be a boy than drag an escort with me every time I go out on the streets."

Ah. That makes sense, the cross dressing, that is. (To be honest, from what he has seen, Ronald does not see much of a stretch for Eve to pull it off...) But staying in a morgue? "You're living with him?" He wonders aloud, referring to Undertaker, who, truthfully, Ronald has heard less than flattering rumours about.

"Hmm. I didn't feel my board to my liking then. Though I'm considering moving back now..." The girls confesses, drawing her bag of goods closer to herself as if embarrassed.

"That sounds like a good idea." Ronald says good-naturedly, and the stiffness in the conversation slowly begins to melt away. "You'd be closer to all your co-workers, too; I should introduce some of my friends from the other divisions. They'd like to meet you!"

"Oh?" Eve looks genuinely surprised at this prospect, suddenly alert. It occurs to the blond that she may actually be shy. "No- yes, that'd be nice. Maybe after all this is done."

"Huh?" Now it is Ronald's turn to get confused. "What do you mean?"

"I've been trying to get assigned to the most recent case. Remember my exam? The massacre? I feel... Responsible, so I want to find out exactly what happened. It's rather important to me. Nothing particularly important."

The strange tension that comes with every conversation with the girl up until this point starts to creep back into the atmosphere, and Ronald is suddenly struck by a somewhat staggering blow of intuition. She is hiding something, an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach tells him. And even if she does so frequently, this time, it is something serious.

Of course, Ronald is drunk, so for all he knows, it may just be an urge to vomit. Or a completely inaccurate premonition that people sometimes have, like when they bet on things that turn out exactly the opposite of what they had thought it would. It may be nothing at all.

But it would not hurt just to make sure.

"Why's it so important?" He tries to find out, doing his best to keep it unconcerned, keep it casual. The moment he does this, however, he knows he has done something wrong, and Eve's face flashes with a paranoid kind of distrust and her feet suddenly take a step back.

"...It's personal." Eve mumbles, almost too quietly for Ronald to catch. There is a brief moment of silence between the two, in which the blond reaper cannot help but wonder exactly what kind of personal Eve is referring to. Does she mean it is a private matter, or a secret vendetta?

Not taking any chances in case the answer is the latter, Ronald grasps Eve's hand, managing to take a hold of it just before the other reaper moves to whip around and walk away into the darkness of the London streets. If he can do anything to prevent her from making a bad decision, even if she is about to make one at all, he wants to do it. "Wait." He implores, glad that he is not so inebriated that his speech is wants Eve to hear him crystal clear. "Promise me something."

The girl's hand jerks slightly, and Ronald can feel her fingers twitch against the palm of his hand, but at the very least she does not make any further move to shake him off. When Eve does not answer, the blond takes it upon himself to keep going. "I want you to say that you'll be careful- wait, look at who I'm talking to, of course you'll be careful- but promise you won't do anything rash, alright? Not as a co-worker, but a friend, too. You've got some, whether you're aware of it or not, and they can worry about you."

A slow, tension-filled silence stretches out between them. Despite their close proximity, Ronald can feel it expanding, pushing the two farther apart. "Eve?"

More silence.

And then, "I have to go." The quiet murmur is not unkind, but there is a strange pang in Ronald's chest when Eve takes back her hand and starts to leave, for real this time.

"Wait!" He starts to follow her, to try to stop her, but suddenly the sounds of coy calling and whistling reach the man's ears.

Alice is waving to him with a swish of the handkerchief. "Yo hoo, Ronnie, are you going to come back in? It's freezing outside, you know! We're cutting the cake!"

"..." Gaze switching from Eve to Alice to Eve and then Alice, Ronald tries to juggle his options. Go after her, or return to the bar and avoid suspicion. Suspicion of what, exactly? What does he have to be afraid of?

Favouritism towards one girl, maybe. A voice inside his head sneers. Who knows, following her might cause more trouble than it's worth.

With this in mind, Ronald makes his choice. "I- I'll be there in a second. Save some cake for me!" He says with a crooked kind of smile, like a painting on the wall tilted the wrong way.

...

"He lied to you, you know."

"I know."

"Really? And you're not bothered at all?"

"...no. I lied too."

* * *

**I love the last bit of this chapter. There's no declaration of love trampled underfoot, no chilling monologue of hopelessness or despair, but all the same, I hope reading it _hurts_.**


	15. Deathly So

**ShortShort chapter this time around, I'm sorry! It's just the last month of school for me, and you know what that means-**

**I AM GONNA DIE. D8**

**So yeah. Short chapter. I am so, so sorry.**

* * *

John swallows, grunts, and tries to get a good grip on himself, fingers scrabbling to take a firm hold of the column of flesh between it.

He then fail, falls, and dies, having been strangled to death.

A thin, long-haired figure looms over him and smiles, lips stretching so wide they looks as if fit to burst.

**...**

Despite the routine, things start to grow quiet for Eve.

Or at least, they do during one part. It is not a terribly significant one; a few weeks ago, Eve would not had noticed the change at all. After all, Eve still has things to do.

She still reaps souls. The ones she are assigned are always difficult deaths- those who died desperately, clinging to life, trying with every once of their being to survive a fate long written for them by the reapers. Their records dance, and dive, and twist, and spin, and every time, the reaper is out at risk of one day being punctuated by one of those winding reels. Eve is always careful, however, not just because of the risks of contracting the Crown of Thorns- a fatal and painful disease, though only the later really applies to Eve, but also the fact that what she experienced with her own records had been hard enough to bear- she would rather not do the same thing with a stranger's memories. At least she is familiar with her own life, even at terms with it. Being forced to relive the unfulfilled life of a stranger? A strange sense of repulsion waves through her at the thought- it is a kind of perversion she wishes on no one.

She still submits paperwork. There's a steady stream of it always coming in, regarding regular reports about co-workers, scythes and souls. It mainly pertains to souls- the ones she reaps- but lately other things have been appearing: testimony forms and requirements for witness signatures. There had been another attack earlier that week and though Eve had an alibi, being that she and Undertaker had been inside the mortuary, the records of the reaper, John from the poker game Eve had played, had shown glimpses, not clear ones, but glimpses all the same, of a face eerily close to hers. The same day she had signed those particular form, she also happened to get a notice saying that her request to be transferred back into her previously assigned flat had been delayed.

She still spars. And though her opponents have gotten better, and more aggressive, than before, she still wins. Sometimes barely, though, and Eve cannot help but think how much she will have to practice to stay sharp enough to best so many people. She is starting to think that people are opting to practice fighting with her because the genuinely want to fight, to damage, not learn. Eve notices it, faintly, but is not too sure what to make of it.

Before and after, however, is the part of her day that has grown startling silent. If put up to give answer, she would say that peopled had started actively avoiding her. Ronald had just been the start.

She does not blame them. After all, rumours have been going around- about her and the recent attacks on the other reapers in the department. It does not look good for the girl. The other reapers- they have no way of being sure, of knowing whether or not she is a murderer of their kind, so obviously it makes sense for them to stay away. What bothers Eve is that none of them had the decency to wait until she had actually been convicted of anything to shun her so suddenly. Still, it is no longer as if she has any one aside form Undertaker to tell this- it had taken the course of a few days, but already, to Eve's disappointment, she has become a pariah. Again. Which is all the more reason to prove her innocence, if she can only find a way how.

**...**

It just so happens that throughout all this, from Felicia's faltering faith of mustering up the courage to talk to Eve at all, to Ronald's awkward avoidance, there is exactly one person, besides any co-worker who talk with her solely to relay something business related, or Undertaker with whom she is conversing even more frequently with, in fact, who even bothers carrying a conversation with her these days.

To her admittedly immense shock, it turns out to be Grell.

"Hmm, what do we have here?" The overly-flamboyant redhead peers over Eve's shoulder one day in a manner reminiscent of a certain mortician. Like before, the girl does not need to even move to realize who is speaking. Unlike before, this greatly irritates her. "Paperwork again? How drab."

Eve does not move, makes no response, and refuses to make eye contact with the man in stony defiance. This is one person she would rather not interact with, thank you very much. If she stays still, then maybe like a very dumb animal, he may leave her alone. Or, like one too smart for its own good, perhaps he will grow bored instead, and find someone else to bother.

No such luck; to her chagrin, Grell does not take this hint, and instead sighs a sigh of enough boredom to last a thousand summers, as he drapes his arm languidly across Eve's shoulders. "Tsk, so cold." The redhead mutters. Eve can feel her blood crawl and boil simultaneously. She also realizes at the same time that this man may be the one to evoke the most genuine emotion from her yet- it is amazing how much Eve can bring herself to be irritated when around him. How does he do that? "I'd find it attractive if you weren't so bad an actress. Or a looker." Grell pokes verbally with a laugh.

"You should be doing paperwork. You have overtime."

"You should be having fun. You volunteered to stay late. Who does that?" Grell leans in closer and his hair starts to fall over Eve's shoulder and tickle her neck, and it occurs to the girl that Grell is teasing her again, trying to rile a reaction through irritation and uncomfortable behaviour. Really? Of all people, just because William is not here, the bothersome man has to target her?

"What do you want?" She want him to go away.

"I'm curious." He wants her to feel uncomfortable, as he all but lounges on Eve's shoulders. The weight puts pressure and pins her down somewhat onto her chair. "What are you up to?"

A frown knits together Eve's brows. "What do you mean?"

"There are rumours, you know." The girl does know. She has heard them. That she had killed an entire group of people on her opening exam. That she had been the one to attack Brandi all those weeks ago. That she has killed John from the poker party two days ago. That she can fly. The laughable thing is, only the last one is true. "People are talking about you- a lot. I'd almost be jealous, but the kind of attention you're getting isn't very good, Hun." He is whispering in Eve's ear, picking up every click and clack of his sharpened teeth as the redhead speaks. The girl becomes all too aware of the hands snaking around and tightening around her neck, like a snake trying to starve its prey for air. They crawl up her throat and stay there, not choking, but not relenting either.

"What are you up to?" Grell repeats, and this time around, Eve has to concede silently that she feels a little more inclined to answer now. He is staring hard with his feline eyes, forcing Eve into looking at them as he holds her head to look upwards in her seat. She does not move- there is no current need to, and she knows she can fight him off- but the feeling is uncomfortable and her jaw tightens slightly. "Because if it does anything to harm Ronnie or Felicia or Willu- especially him, I won't forgive you."

The reaper does not know whether to be more taken aback at Grell's seriousness or his surprising competence at being intimidating when he wants to. "It's none of your business." She concludes. "And I assure you, it won't ever be."

"...Hmm. I hope you're sure." Purring like a cat, fingers dig like claws into the flesh of Eve's throat momentarily before withdrawing. Just like that, the danger is over, and Grell instantly reverts to his usual annoying self, immediately skipping off with claims of seeing if Ronnie may also be doing overtime.

Part of Eve cannot help but wonder the kind of work Grell could get done if he were ever to put so much effort into his work. Another part is in fact, a little scared.

* * *

**Curse you, summatives! *shakes fist angrily***


End file.
